


Conquest

by MadDoctorArtist



Series: War of the Old Ones Saga [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drama, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2018-10-03 19:52:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 75,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10256480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadDoctorArtist/pseuds/MadDoctorArtist
Summary: Part 3 of the War of the Old Ones Series. Her memories restored at last, Elissa ‘Yara’ Cousland joins forces with Amber Hawke and Lahara Trevelyan. Each holds a piece of the Shards of Andraste; the key to saving the souls of Thedas. But the land is dying, and time runs short. The Old Ones have gathered their respective forces, each determined to see their own version of the world’s rebirth. As final judgement approaches, the three must decide Thedas’s ultimate fate, even if it goes against the wishes of the Maker himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And here we are, the third and final fic of my ‘War of the Old Ones’ Series. Thanks for sticking with it. Never thought I’d actually get this far, so aren’t you the lucky ones!
> 
> If you’ve just joined, I recommend reading ‘Chances’ and ‘Catastrophe’ first to get up to speed, else things might not make much sense.
> 
> I will still follow the rest of Inquisition’s story, but with some rather large differences, obviously. I am also ignoring the DLC this time around (but I am aware of what happens). More of the FF XIII: Lightning Returns lore will surface, too (honest), adapted to fit.
> 
> In a slight twist, parts of this fic will split between Elissa, Lahara and Hawke’s POVs—you’ll see why soon enough. It’s still predominantly Elissa’s story, however.
> 
> It’s also going to be a fair bit darker than Catastrophe (as if that wasn’t bad enough, right?) so consider yourself warned.
> 
> Right, all buckled in? Let’s go! :D

It was unnaturally quiet in the Skyhold courtyard. Elissa cast a wary gaze around, running her thumb over the flag in her hand. Surely someone should have come to challenge her by now. She hadn’t long stolen it from Bethany, and she knew the others had to be lurking, waiting to catch her off guard.

A sudden creak caught her ear, and her head snapped up. Alistair grunted, leaping from the scaffolding above. Elissa bolted, and he fell just short of her. Dodging his outstretched hand, she tore up the steps to the main keep. When she reached the doors, however, they burst open. Smirking, Dorian lunged, his fingertips brushing the flag. Elissa snatched her arm back, then twisted, skidding down the stone railing back to ground level. Alistair tried to tackle her again, but she vaulted over him, and he collided into Dorian.

Lungs burning, Elissa ran up the steps to the east wall. The sun fell into her eyes, and she blinked, raising a hand to her face. Cullen’s tower was a few steps away, and her jaw tensed. If she could climb it…

Out of no-where a heavy weight pounced onto her, and she cried out.

“I’ll be taking that back!” Bethany proclaimed, snatching the flag away. She shoved Elissa to the ground, then sprinted northwards. Elissa caught herself on her hands, snarling. She rolled back to her feet, taking chase. The sneaky mage would pay for that!

Bethany ducked into the tower, trying to close the door, but Elissa was too fast. She slammed into the oak, and Bethany was thrown back. The mage stumbled into the wall, clutching the flag against her chest. Elissa couldn’t stop, however, tripping and landing straight onto Cullen’s desk. The scrolls and quills crashed to the floor, and she groaned, clasping her thigh.

Catching her breath, Bethany staggered to the door, when a pair of arms circled her from behind. She struggled, but then she was pulled around, coming face to face with familiar mismatched eyes. Bethany froze, Lahara’s breath warm against her cheeks. The Herald smiled, pushing her against the wall, and Bethany shivered, holding the flag tighter.

“I don’t care about that.” Lahara lowered her eyelids and pressed closer, her lips almost against Bethany’s. The mage almost forgot to breathe, her own eyes closing.

The flag vanished from her grasp, and Bethany was left in the cold.

“Sorry, changed my mind!” Lahara blew Bethany a parting kiss, racing to the battlements.

“Hey!” Bethany scowled, regaining herself. She nodded at Elissa, and they charged after the Herald. “You won’t get away with that, Lara!”

Lahara laughed, already at the next tower. It was still under repair, and she scaled the scaffolding to the roof. At the top, she kicked downward, causing the struts below to collapse. Elissa and Bethany back-tracked, stuck as the Herald hauled herself through the ramparts. She made herself comfortable between them, her legs dangling over the edge. The metal collar around her neck clicked, glowing softly with lyrium.

“So, want to give me the round yet?” she jeered, draping the flag around her shoulders.

Bethany rolled her eyes. Her fingers twitched, eager to cast a spell, but Elissa shook her head.

“No magic and no weapons allowed, remember?” she reminded her.

“I know,” Bethany grumbled, running a finger over her lips. “But that wasn’t fair…”

She was cut off as an arrow sailed overhead, slamming into the tower’s front façade. It stuck fast, its shaft thicker than normal. Elissa raised a brow.

“A broad-head arrow?” She glanced to the main keep, and caught a shock of red hair. Leliana was sitting on the rookery balcony, bow in hand. She waved, then fired again, letting another arrow sink into the stone.

“Thank you!” Bethany shouted, grabbing onto the first arrow shaft. It easily supported her weight, and Lahara’s eyes widened. She scampered away, Bethany right behind her. Elissa folded her arms, watching them disappear, and let out a sigh.

“Lara’s in trouble now, hmm?” Alistair said; he’d caught up, along with Dorian. He brushed the mud from his knees, chuckling. “It’s good to see she can keep up this time.”

“Right,” Elissa murmured, guilty thoughts stirred. It had been a couple of months since they had escaped the maw of the Frostbacks, and its aftermath continued to haunt. Lahara and Leliana had made it through the worst of their illnesses, thanks to Eliza, yet the ordeal had still left its scars. And while Elissa had been spared any physical reminders, the mark on her conscience ran just as deep.

“They’re taking their sweet time,” Dorian commented, starting to pace. “Not that I want to be the one to interrupt them, of course.”

“That’s got to be against the rules, too,” Alistair huffed. “I think you should gently remind them the game’s not over, Elissa.”

“Er, why me?” Elissa scoffed.

“Well for one, you’re a better climber than I am, and two, it’s bound to be awkward if…”

Lahara’s sudden yelp cut Alistair off, and they all looked up.

“You’re making this too easy!” roared Iron Bull, stepping to the tower’s edge. He held the Herald in one arm, the flag in the other. Bethany remained alongside, holding her hands to her mouth to control her giggling.

“You cheat!” Lahara spluttered, straining to reach the flag, but she was no match for Iron Bull’s strength. Her collar clicked, and she threw up her hands. “Fine, fine! You can have this one!”

“Glad we’ve reached an agreement,” Iron Bull chortled.

He set Lahara down, who proceeded to stick her tongue out at Bethany. They retreated from sight, descending the other side, and soon they were all together on the wall. Iron Bull was grinning, the flag raised in triumph. Lahara sneered at him.

“So, your plan didn’t quite work out, huh?” Elissa asked, as they made their way back across the ramparts.

“Damn idiot blocked me while I was making my way down,” Lahara muttered. She shot Bethany a dark look. “Then my _delightful girlfriend_ thought it would be hilarious to push me right into him!”

“You deserved it, after that trick you pulled,” Bethany retorted, making a face. “Even if I couldn’t win, at least you lost.”

“Oh, since when did our sweet little Bethany develop such a mean streak?” Alistair asked.

“Tell me about it,” Lahara added. “And against me, the poor pitiable Herald, too! You’re supposed to love me!”

“It’s not a mean streak,” Bethany corrected. “But you should know if you try and bite me, you’ll just get bitten back.”

“Come on, Beth, I couldn’t resist,” Lahara admitted, snaking her arm around the mage’s waist. “You’re so cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” Her voice lowered. “And oh so easy to take advantage of…”

“Man, you two must be a riot in bed,” Iron Bull broke in, resting his hands behind his head. “Bet there’s never a dull moment.”

Lahara almost choked on her next breath, and Bethany’s blush deepened. Dorian snorted back a laugh, and Elissa fought the smile creeping on her lips. Alistair coughed, loosening his collar, his ears turning pink.

Before Lahara could muster an answer, someone cleared their throat harshly. Elissa glanced ahead, and spied Cullen in front of his quarters. He did not look too pleased.

“I’m glad you seem to have made a strong recovery, Herald,” he said, trying—and failing—to hide his irked expression. His scattered papers were still visible through the doorway. “Might I ask you keep such activities strictly outdoors, however?”

“Sorry, that was my fault,” Elissa said, bowing her head, and only just noticing the ink stains on her overcoat.

Cullen sighed.

“I understand it’s easy to get carried away, and I suppose it has been for Lahara’s benefit, but do take care next time,” he said. “Anyway, I was actually hoping to catch you, Herald. Josephine, Leliana and I humbly request a meeting as soon as possible.”

“Oh?” Lahara raised a brow, drawing her left hand closer.

“You are very much integral to the Inquisition, Lahara, even if the Breach has been contained,” Cullen said. “The smaller rifts remain, and a lot of work must still be done. We’ve not had a chance to discuss how things stand, given your health, but we feel now would be a good time to plan our next move.”

“I guess so,” Lahara said.

“You should attend as well, Elissa,” Cullen went on. “The Champion has further matters to bring up, and she insisted you be involved.”

“Sure,” Elissa said.

“Good,” Cullen answered. “I will see you both shortly in the war room.”

The Commander bowed, then departed, heading towards the courtyard. Lahara let out a sigh, and her collar clicked again.

“I was wondering when they’d start chasing after me again,” she said, stretching her arms. “You’d think after my contribution, I’d be allowed to retire by now.”

“Many rifts linger across southern Thedas,” Dorian pointed out. “And as unfortunate as it may be, you are still the only one who can seal them.”

“Hey, I was only joking,” Lahara said, holding up her hands. “I’ve actually been worried how long I’ve been out of the loop. Maker-knows what’s been brewing since.”

“It’s not only your responsibility, Lara,” Elissa said.

“And you’ve made so much progress,” Bethany added, “considering that a couple of weeks ago, you were too breathless to even walk.”

Lahara brushed back her hair.

“Yeah. I have Dagna to thank for that.” The Herald ran her finger over the device around her neck. “This thing works way better than I expected. I’m glad we were able to recruit her, and Eliza, too.”

“I’ve noticed you wearing that these days,” Alistair remarked. “What exactly is it?”

“Dagna’s working on a name, but essentially it lets me breathe normally,” Lahara explained. She pointed just above the hollow of her throat. “My windpipe was badly burned, and once it started scarring it almost suffocated me. So Eliza had to make a nick here, and this thing keeps my throat from closing over. Don’t ask me how the heck it does that, though.”

“It’s certainly made a world of difference,” Dorian said. “Last time you barely lasted five minutes into this game, you were so out of puff.”

“I know, right?” Lahara clasped Elissa’s arm, and Elissa blinked. “I’m lucky you got me out of that gas chamber when you did, Elissa. If I’d been stuck a minute longer, I’d have lost my voice for good, among other things.”

Elissa didn’t respond, her shoulders tensing. Such praise was underserved. If she had been that little bit more alert, perhaps she could have saved Lahara from the injury in the first place. But she would not let this go unanswered. The next time she and Zevran met, she would discuss the matter with her blades.

“Anyway, we shouldn’t keep the others waiting,” Lahara went on, sensing Elissa’s unease. “We’ll call it quits for today.” She waggled a finger at Iron Bull. “But it’s not over, Bull! First thing tomorrow, it’s round two!”

“I accept any and all challengers,” Iron Bull gloated, folding his arms. “Not that you stand any chance. I’ll enjoy crushing you again.”

Lahara’s mismatched eyes gleamed. “Heh, we’ll see.”

* * *

 

The Skyhold war room was a far cry from the dingy vestibule in the Haven Chantry. It was much, much larger, boasting pale walls and gothic windows, making it bright and inviting. A table carved from an ancient trunk spanned the rear, an enormous map of southern Thedas spread across it. Already it was littered with markers and pins, and Elissa raised a brow. The Inquisition had certainly kept busy, despite their setbacks.

Josephine, Cullen and Hawke were already waiting, as promised. Hawke was pacing, her brows knitted, but she relaxed when Elissa and Lahara entered.

“Morning Elissa, Lara,” she greeted. She clasped Lahara’s wrist. “Good to see you doing well, my friend.”

“Likewise,” Josephine said. “You had us worried for a time, Herald. We are fortunate to have such a talented healer in our ranks.”

“Sorry to be such a burden,” Lahara said, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Where’s Leliana?” Elissa asked.

“I sent a summons not long ago,” Josephine said. She began to fiddle with her ledger. “Of course, now it takes her a little…”

Cullen flashed the ambassador a warning look, and she quickly trailed off. Elissa bit back the pang in her chest, clenching her fist. Once more her guilt threatened to resurge, and it took all her willpower to stop it flooding over.

Soon, rhythmic clacking echoed from the hall behind. Elissa didn’t look back, biting her lip. It was a sound that had come to make her heart ache.

“My apologies for my tardiness,” Leliana said, emerging through the doorway. Adjusting her grip on her crutches, she hobbled towards the gathering. She halted beside Elissa, their arms touching. Elissa sighed, the bard’s palm joining hers beneath the table. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes,” Josephine said. “I am afraid there is not much good news, but hear us out.” She leant over the table, gesturing to where Haven had once stood. “The first thing is that despite your tremendous effort, Herald, Corypheus survived the volcanic eruption.”

“I’m not surprised,” Lahara mumbled. “He did have an Archdemon to fly away on, after all.”

“The ash cloud, however, provided the cover we needed to escape,” Cullen broke in. “Not to mention you utterly decimated his Red Templar force.” He paused. “Given his losses, Corypheus has been looking to replace them, and we believe we have found his next target.”

“My agents report his surviving troops hiding in Orlais,” Leliana said. “It would make sense, as Empress Celene, having put down the elven rebellion, now faces civil war within her own court. That leaves the empire vulnerable.”

“How so?” Lahara asked.

“Her main opposition is her cousin, Duke Gaspard,” Josephine said, “a renowned General who commands much respect in the Orlesian army. Many feel he was cheated out of the throne, and they would gladly flock to him if he declared open war. That gives great potential for Corypheus. If he swayed the Duke to his side, he would control a sizeable force.”

“Great, so headache number one,” Lahara drawled, tapping her finger against her arm. “What’s next?”

Hawke stepped forward.

“I want to talk about Corruption,” she said. “Apart from the fact Corypheus still has a dust monster, the mist keeps spreading, and it won’t be long before it’ll become a problem for all nations. It’s not something we can leave on a backburner.” She pressed a finger to her temple, and the rune on her forehead flashed. “But these Shards of Andraste might be the key to getting rid of it for good. So…” She took a breath, her eyes falling to Elissa. “I was hoping you’d join me, Elissa, and help eradicate it, before it’s too late.”

“A sound idea,” Josephine said. “You could…”

Elissa held up her hand, cutting the ambassador off. She’d had an inkling this was what the Champion had wanted to discuss, and had come prepared with an answer.

“I’m afraid I have to say no, Amber,” she said.

Hawke frowned slightly. Lahara raised a brow.

“Doesn’t sound like you, Hero,” the Herald said.

“Look, it’s not because I don’t recognise Corruption as a threat,” Elissa continued, uncomfortable under everyone’s stare. “But I think we need to know the truth behind these Shards. As useful as they’ve been, we have no idea about their origin, and we’re definitely not using their full potential.” She brushed her fingers over the rune on her chest. “We don’t even know if what we’ve done has been _safe_. And…”

She licked her lips, hesitant.

“And what?” Hawke prompted.

“We can’t ignore Zevran anymore,” Elissa said. “Even though he’s helped us before, he also just tried to kill Lara. We have to find out his real motives, and who he’s working for.” Her gaze turned distant. “And something else keeps bothering me. He’s convinced my memories hold the key to something, and he’s not been the only one to mention it, either.” She let out a breath. “I know it’s selfish, but I have to know why I seem at the centre of it all; why my past seems so important. Before anyone else has to be dragged in with me.”

A brief quiet descended, as the group mulled over her words. Elissa held Leliana’s hand tighter, swallowing.

Eventually Hawke gave a conceding nod.

“You know, that actually makes a lot of sense,” she said, resting her hands on her hips. “We have been a bit reckless with this power without fully understanding it. That’s bound to lead to problems.” Lahara’s cheeks reddened slightly, and she glanced aside. “I have no objection to your plan, Elissa.”

“And neither do I,” Leliana proclaimed. “There are other forces working behind the scenes, it is time we discovered what they want.”

“Yes. Our forces are also strong enough that we can divide and conquer,” Cullen said. “I see no reason why we cannot tackle all three of these problems together.”

“So it’s decided then.” Lahara pushed a pin into the map. “I’ll stay with the Inquisition, and we’ll protect this Duke Gaspard from untoward influence.” She then looked to Hawke. “Meanwhile, our Champion can keep hunting dust monsters, and see what to do about Corruption itself.” Finally she nodded to Elissa. “And you, Hero, can dig something up about these mysterious Shards, and get to the bottom of some long-overdue truths. Does that sound about right?”

“Got it in one,” Hawke smirked.

“Thank you, Lara.” Elissa bowed.

“Excellent,” Josephine stated, smiling. She glanced to her ledger. “There is just one more thing outstanding, and then you are free to go.”

Cullen and Leliana nodded, and they all looked to Lahara.

“The Inquisition has yet to have a formal leader, even now,” Josephine began. “All three of you have given much to our cause, but we feel the title should be extended to our dear Herald.”

Lahara blinked. “What, seriously?”

“I agree, you’re a real force to be reckoned with, Lara,” Hawke grinned. “You sealed a giant hole in the sky, you destroyed an army _and_ brought half the Frostbacks to their knees.” She flashed a wink. “Not to mention you’ve tamed my sister, which is nothing to sneeze at.”

“Yes, it’s your turn to be the hero, now,” Elissa said, half-teasing. “Maker knows you deserve it. You survived the Conclave, you won over the mages, and your forward thinking got us out of Haven, too.” She patted the Herald’s shoulder. “I couldn’t think of a better person to lead.”

“Now you are really making me blush,” Lahara said, holding a hand to her cheeks. “But if you’re all so insistent…” She stood tall, her lyrium collar glistening. “I accept.”

“Then let us make it official,” Josephine said, and the three advisors bowed. “We pledge our service to you, Inquisitor Trevelyan. May the Maker guide you, always.”


	2. Chapter 2

The night was unusually clear, and Elissa ran her hand through her hair. She was sitting in the alcove above the rookery, admiring the stars. The attic room had become her quarters now, and offered an unblemished view of the heavens. Yet even the majestic sight couldn’t offer the peace she craved. Since the sun had set, Elissa had only managed to toss and turn, until it became too much and she’d sought solace in the skies. But her thoughts simply would not quiet, and she had been left at their cruel mercy.

A muffled caw echoed from the floorboards, and she let out a breath. What with everything else going on, she had never truly considered Zevran’s—and now Flemeth’s—words, but since she had spoken as much to the others, she couldn’t stop reflecting. Each moment of her life was now up for scrutiny, and every recollection stirred deeper feelings; ones she had thought dead and buried.

Yet no matter how many times she ran over the same things, that longed-for clarity never came…

Soft clacks echoed from the staircase, and Leliana’s yawn caught her ear. Elissa didn’t turn around, closing her eyes as the bard approached.

“You’re still awake?” Leliana set her crutches against the wall, sitting beside Elissa. “I did say not to wait for me.”

“I know,” Elissa murmured, leaning against the bard. “I’ve just been…reminiscing.”

Leliana’s brows narrowed.

“If you are still punishing yourself over what happened…”

Elissa shook her head.

“No, I was thinking about long before.” She sat forward, reaching for her Warden pendant. “Before we first met, before I became a Grey Warden, before the Blight even started. Before I…” She took a heavy breath. “…lost everything.”

Leliana’s gaze softened.

“You mean with your family?”

Elissa nodded. The memory of her parents’ faces flashed by, and she swallowed. It all seemed like a distant dream; a life that may as well have never been. Even Fergus—long since remarried and confident Teyrn of Highever—had become a stranger to her, their blood tie distant and cold. She had not felt like a Cousland for a very long time, and doubted she ever would again.

“You’ve never spoken about back then,” Leliana said quietly. “It was only natural, of course, but…” She trailed off, rubbing the back of her neck. “Do you think that was what Zevran was referring to?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Elissa admitted. “But how could it?” She drew her knees to her chest, wistful. “I was just a noble’s daughter. Never anything special.”

“Now where have I heard those words before?” Leliana chuckled, holding a finger to her cheek. “‘ _I was never meant to become a leader, to have others look to me for guidance…’_ ”

Her tone was mocking, but playful, and Elissa’s cheeks warmed. Those very words had left her lips when they had first travelled together during the Blight.

How far they had come since then…

“It was the truth,” Elissa shrugged, letting her pendant fall back against her Shard.

“Yet look at what you achieved,” Leliana countered. “You rose above your fear and doubt, and took Ferelden to victory.”

“And then I lost everything all over again,” Elissa murmured, her gaze falling.

“No,” Leliana said. “It was taken from you.” She slid closer, her breath warm against Elissa’s cheek. “But once again you fought to get it back, and you succeeded.”

Elissa rested her hand over Leliana’s. She wanted to find comfort in the bard’s words, but…

“So where does that leave me?” Elissa raised her head again, appealing to the stars. “I’m no longer a Cousland, and barely a Warden either, since Corruption’s blocked the Taint.” The rune on her chest prickled, and she brushed her palm over it. “All I have is _this_ ; a power I still don’t know a thing about. One that was forced onto me, and that’s been both a boon and curse.” She shook her head. “I just…don’t know who I am anymore. Maybe I never did.”

Leliana held Elissa’s cheek, bringing them face to face.

“You are you, Elissa,” she said softly. “Nothing more, and nothing less.” She glanced her lips against Elissa’s, running her fingers through her dark locks. “Lay down this burden, _mon coeur_. You will find your answers, but it will not be this night.”

Elissa let her shoulders drop, and pulled Leliana into her arms. The bard teased her into another kiss, and Elissa lost herself. She held tighter, clinging to Leliana’s warmth, but her hip caught the bard’s leg. Leliana abruptly withdrew, hissing.

“Maker, I’m sorry!” Elissa bowed her head. “I…”

Leliana hushed her.

“That is the last time I want to hear you say that,” she said.

“But…”

“Elissa, how many times must I repeat myself?” Leliana cut her off. “I still have my life because of you, and if this is the worst I must bear, then so be it.” She tilted Elissa’s chin up. “Never forget, you’ve done what no healer ever could.” She brought Elissa’s hand to her chest. “You made my heart whole again.”

Elissa pressed her forehead against the bard’s, locking their fingers together.

“I’m going to miss you,” she whispered.

“As will I,” Leliana murmured. “But I won’t be out of reach. My scouts will watch over you, and you can contact me whenever you need.” She kissed Elissa’s brow, pulling her towards the bed. “Now get some sleep. It will be a long day tomorrow, for all of us.”

* * *

Elissa fiddled with the saddlebag on her horse, her breath misting in the morning sun. She stood before the gates of Skyhold, mere moments from setting out. Yet although she had been ready to go for a while, she’d struggled to take that first step. It was starting to hit that everyone was going their separate ways, and it left Elissa in a funny mood. She had grown used to residing in the fortress, enjoying the company around her, and her upcoming journey suddenly seemed awfully lonely. She wasn’t even sure when she would return.

But she had taken this decision on purpose. She would travel quicker on her own, and Leliana’s scouts would have her back, as well. There was no need for the others to risk themselves. Especially now Zevran had proven so dangerous.

“Thank the Maker, you’re still here!”

Elissa glanced back to the courtyard, and her eyes widened. Bethany was making her way towards her. The mage carried a hefty pack of her own, which she promptly strapped to Elissa’s mount. The horse snorted, and Elissa raised a brow.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Bethany poked Elissa’s shoulder. “Coming with you, you idiot!”

Elissa blinked. “I thought you were going to Halamshiral with Lara?”

“That was before you decided you weren’t joining Amber,” Bethany answered. “I can’t believe you never thought to say anything!” She shook her head. “You know you’re terrible at riding, and I can’t leave you running around doing Maker knows what!”

“And neither can I.” Alistair’s voice rang through. He emerged from the courtyard as well, leading his own mount. “You two got into plenty trouble last time you ran off. You’re not getting away with it again!”

“Alistair…” Elissa’s chest swelled with warmth. “But what about Amber? She said she needed you in the Deep Roads.”

“Varric’s got me covered,” Alistair said, waving off her concern. “Look Elissa, these Shards might not affect us directly, but I was there when they first knocked you out.” His face grew serious. “You almost died, you know. I’m not chancing that again.”

“It was my fault you got tangled with them in the first place,” Bethany added. She drew her arms around herself, suppressing a shiver. “If I can ever make up for that, I will.”

“It’ll be just like old times,” Alistair insisted. “Minus the darkspawn ambushes and Sten’s cooking, I hope.”

“There’ll be more than enough to worry about otherwise,” Elissa stated. “Are you really sure about this?”

“There’s nothing out there we can’t handle,” Alistair shrugged. “And before you start, yes, we know we could be gone a little while, and that’s not an issue.”

“I’m not afraid of Zevran, either,” Bethany declared. “And if we could manage four years being on the run, this will be nothing.” The mage grasped Elissa’s hand. “Whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with us, sis. Better get used to it.”

Tears prickled behind Elissa’s eyes. She pulled the two into her arms, holding tight.

“I…Thank you, both of you,” she said. Bethany and Alistair returned the embrace, and Elissa found herself smiling. “I’ll try not to keep you away as long this time.”

“Damn right you won’t!”

Hawke’s voice echoed through the gates, and the three turned around. The Champion strode through the courtyard, accompanied by Lahara. The Herald flashed a wink, her lyrium collar sparkling.

“Thought you could sneak away without saying farewell, Hero?” Hawke teased, playfully punching Elissa’s arm.

“You’re one to talk,” Elissa shot back, recalling Hawke’s similar departure from Haven.

“Okay, so I set the trend. Doesn’t mean it’s right,” Hawke chuckled, holding up her hands. “There’s no need to be so shy around us, you know.”

“We just wanted to wish you luck,” Lahara said, resting her hands on her hips. “You were never one for big send-offs, I know. But a little goodbye wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

“I’m sorry.” Elissa’s eyes became downcast. “I didn’t want to cause any fuss.”

“Oh, don’t apologise.” A smirk creased Lahara’s lips. “Besides, you’re taking Beth off my hands, and that’s enough for anyone to…” The Herald cut herself short, catching Bethany’s elbow against her ribs. “Hey!”

“Meanie.” Bethany stuck her tongue out, and Lahara laughed. She circled her arm around the mage, kissing her cheek.

“I know you’ll take good care of each other,” the Herald said, as Bethany’s face reddened. “I promise Leliana will be in safe hands, too.”

“Er, does anyone care for the poor Champion anymore?” Hawke asked, folding her arms.

“I know the feeling,” Alistair huffed, although he was still grinning. “We mere mortals don’t get a look in.”

Elissa rolled her eyes. “Alright, I get it, Alistair. I’ll make sure to tuck you in every night as well.”

“And I’m sure Varric will do the same for Amber,” Lahara said, nudging the Champion’s shoulder. Hawke laughed.

“You have no idea,” the rogue said. “Well, we’d better not keep you any longer. We’ve got to move out at some point, too.” She stuck out her hand, and Elissa took it. “May the Maker watch over you all.”

“And you,” Bethany affirmed, giving her sister a hug. “We’ll be together again soon enough.”

“Hope it goes well for you, Champion, Herald,” Alistair said, bowing.

“It’s Inquisitor now,” Lahara corrected, brushing back her auburn locks. “Not that I’ll ever get used to it.” She clasped Elissa’s shoulder. “Anyway, all the best, Elissa. Whatever happens, the Inquisition is right behind you. If you need anything, just say the word.”

“Thank you,” Elissa said. “And good luck to you both, as well.”

She mounted her horse. Bethany climbed in front of her, taking the reins. Alistair followed suit, and they began a slow trot across the bridge. Elissa glanced back, waving. Her eyes fell to the main keep, and she ran a finger along the bronze chain around her neck. The Cousland ring was cool against her skin, and she smiled, knowing Leliana now wore her Warden pendant in its place.

_I’ll be back soon, Leliana. Maker keep you safe._

* * *

The desert heat was unforgiving, burning into Elissa as she descended the chasm path. The rocks provided some shade, but it was never long before she had to return to the merciless sun. Her scarf half-covered her face, drenched with sweat and sand, and she licked her cracked lips. It had been a long, exhausting walk through the Western Approach—even more uncomfortable than the last time—but they had made steady progress. She knew the scout camp was waiting at the bottom of the gorge, although had yet to see it. Bethany was close behind, fanning herself with her hand, while Alistair brought up the rear, his entire face glistening.

The path narrowed, and Elissa slowed, squeezing through the bands of rock. The recollection of her last visit nagged at the back of her mind, and she clenched her teeth. Here she had spent her final moments as ‘Yara’; before she had been forced to confront the truth within. To acknowledge the fear and guilt and shame she had tried to cast away, and reclaim the past that had been stolen from her.

But even with all that, something was still missing. So much had changed, and words she should have brushed aside now stuck into her like thorns. She raised a hand to her chest, the ever-present question a whisper in her thoughts.

_Just who am I…_

“Hey, Elissa, you in there?” Bethany waved her hand in front of Elissa, and she blinked. The mage had caught up. “I was asking if you wanted some water?”

“Sorry, yes,” Elissa said, brushing her face with her sleeve. She took the offered skin, the cool liquid soothing her throat. Bethany watched, her brow ever so slightly creased.

“You’ve been a bit out of sorts since we left.” She glanced aside. “I know it must feel strange, returning here, but are you okay?”

“You could say that.” Elissa returned the skin, still thoughtful. “I’ll be alright.”

“Good to hear,” Alistair said, coming to join them. He ran a hand through his plastered hair. “Maker above, _where_ is that scout camp? I swear it wasn’t this far last time!”

Bethany scoured the bottom of the gorge, catching sight of the stream. She traced it north, and that was when the tents appeared, half-hidden by the rocks.

“They’ve set up closer to the mine,” she said. “Come on.”

She slid past Elissa, taking the lead. Elissa and Alistair followed, climbing through the last of the rocks, before reaching the ground. For a while they walked in silence, although Elissa felt Alistair stealing glances. He was just as concerned as the mage.

“You’ve got that look in your eyes again,” Alistair eventually said, resting his hands behind his head.

Elissa bristled. “What look?”

“Doubt,” Alistair answered. “You’ve worn it often enough, but it really doesn’t suit you these days.”

“Easy for you to say.” Elissa pulled up her scarf.

“Look, don’t fret so much,” Alistair said. “I can only imagine how much you’ve been pulled around, but we’ll figure it out. You don’t have to take it all to heart.”

Elissa let her eyes close a moment.

“Don’t I?” She clutched the rune on her chest. “If I’d had the courage to face myself, I could’ve spared Lara and Amber from these Shards. And whatever it is I’m supposed to remember would have come back to me. We wouldn’t have to be doing this.”

“And you know that for a fact, right?”

Elissa said nothing.

“Listen, I’ve been there,” Alistair went on. “It might not be the same, but sometimes I still wonder if I should’ve become King, like everyone wanted.” He paused, his own thoughts taking over. “I wonder if everything I’ve done otherwise has been worth it, and how things might have been different.” He touched Elissa’s arm. “But none of that matters, Elissa. Whatever path’s been laid, you just have to see it through. It will work out, trust me.”

“Maybe,” Elissa murmured.

The rest of the conversation fell away, and finally they reached the camp. A few scouts were reclining by the fire, tending their equipment, while another was writing a report. She glanced up from her parchment, and her eyes brightened.

“Ah, nice timing, Hero!” Scout Harding dropped her quill, and stood up. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Good to see you, Harding,” Elissa greeted. “No more rifts bothering you, I hope?”

“Thankfully not,” Harding said. “But there’s been more than enough going on to keep us on our toes.”

“Oh?” Alistair raised a brow. “What’s to report?”

“There’s been a lot of movement since you last visited,” Harding answered. “But you must be tired. Make yourselves comfortable, and I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

Nodding, Elissa entered the camp and dumped her pack. She gave her arms a stretch, her muscles stiff from their desert trek. Bethany and Alistair did likewise, coming to sit around the embers of the fire. Another scout tossed them some dried meat strips, while Harding stepped into her tent.

Soon she emerged with a rolled-up parchment. She knelt in front of them, spreading it on the ground. It was a map, charting the tunnels leading to the temple.

“The good news is that the Corruption is long gone,” Harding said, pointing to the mining shafts. “Whatever reaction those Shards of Andraste trigged seemed to dissolve it all, and it hasn’t returned.”

“At least that will make accessing the temple easier,” Bethany commented.

“Eh, well, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Harding said. “Because now there’s something almost as bad in its place.”

“Of course there is,” Alistair said dryly. “What joy awaits us this time?”

“Believe it or not, a group of cultists have moved in,” Harding went on. “And they’re not leaving anytime soon.”

“The Venatori?” Elissa asked, frowning. She had thought them dealt with already.

“If only,” Harding replied, giving a mirthless smile. “No, these ones call themselves ‘The Children of Andraste’, and they’re no less as ruthless.”

“That’s a blasphemous title if I ever heard one,” Alistair scoffed.

“Where did they come from?” Bethany asked. “And what do they want?”

“They usually skulk around southern Ferelden, but since the Corruption vanished, they’ve been really interested in these ruins,” Harding informed. “It’s not clear what they’re after, but almost all of them are apostates, and they’re very hostile to outsiders.” She swallowed. “And that’s not even the worst thing.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask, now,” Elissa said.

“Yeah.” Harding took a breath, hesitant. “They’ve…well, they’ve been bringing young women here. And once they get inside the temple, they’re never seen again.”

“Maker’s breath…” Bethany clenched her fist. “Blood magic. It has to be!”

“That’s pretty much what we suspect, too,” Harding said. “But if you want to investigate the ruins, you’re either going to have to sneak in, or face them directly.”

“How many of them are there?” Elissa asked.

“Around twelve, thirteen at the most,” Harding said. “They don’t appear that suited for combat, but don’t underestimate them. They know that temple inside out, and whatever they’ve found they’ll guard with their lives.”

“There must be something important still inside, then,” Elissa deduced. “We have to find out what.”

“Shouldn’t we ask Cullen’s troops for help?” Alistair offered. “Even a small force would be enough to overwhelm them.”

“It would, but we’d lose our chance for information,” Elissa answered. “If they’re not afraid of death, those secrets won’t be easy to get out of them.”

“I agree,” Bethany said. “And if they have hostages, we can’t risk endangering them more. That is, if they’re still…” She sighed, trailing off.

“Well, if you’re opting for the stealth approach,” Harding began, “I have a suggestion…”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still with Team Elissa! Warning for mild torture ahead.

Elissa crouched before the temple, her back pressed against a pillar. The ruins were already bringing back memories, and she let out a breath. The familiar glyphs glimmered, and the gurgling channels extended deep into the passages. However, this time smothering Corruption did not press upon her, nor was she filled with hesitation, so she could at least be thankful for that. She hoped it would not end with similar tragedy.

A hand touched her shoulder, and she glanced to Bethany. The mage gave a nod, her eyes flicking to the two men guarding the gates. They carried ebony staffs, and a seal blazed behind them, preventing entry. Their hoods were also marked with a strange insignia; one Elissa had not seen before.

She turned to the opposite pillar, where Alistair was hiding. He caught her eye, his jaw tense. Elissa swallowed, tapping her fingers against her thigh. They had been sitting in the shadows for a while, and it was all she could do to hold her patience. It was not so much the guards that were the problem than the seal. It could only be removed by the apostate who’d cast it, and she had left to collect another victim a while ago. And there was no sign she would return anytime soon.

_Just what were they guarding so closely?_

Finally, steps echoed from the caves. Bethany held a hand to her mouth. Elissa followed her gaze, biting her lip. The apostate had returned, and a woman in chains walked alongside her. She wore tattered armour, had long, dark hair, and her movements were rigid. Clearly, she was under some kind of thrall.

They reached the entrance, and the apostate called out.

“Glory to Andraste, the true Mother reborn!” she cried.

“And may her return bring chaos to our enemies,” replied a guard, crossing his arm over his chest. “You have brought another test subject?”

“Yes,” the woman said. “A warrior, more durable than the others. She should suit our needs.”

“Good,” the guard said. “Megara has also sent word. She has found the True One, and once we find success, we are to return to her immediately.”

“Then let us be swift,” the woman answered. “I will take this one to the Chamber of Light, and we will begin.”

She took her prisoner’s arm, then reached for the seal, undoing the spell. It vanished, and she led her charge into the temple. The guards remained, and once she was well within the ruins, they raised their staffs.

Elissa whistled, bolting into the open. The guards turned, snarling and priming their magic. The charge made Elissa’s hair stand on end, but she held her ground as Bethany summoned a force spell. The guards cried out, pinned to the ground, their bones crunching under the strain. Then Alistair emerged, and he knocked them unconscious.

Bethany let the spell dissipate, catching her breath. Alistair and Elissa dragged the pair behind the pillars, removing their staffs. They tied them against the rocks, before they regrouped by the gate.

“I don’t like the sound of what they’re planning,” Bethany said. “That poor soldier.”

“And I thought those Sacred Ashes fanatics were a few pinecones short of a fir tree,” Alistair grumbled. “Why do these crazies always take our beloved prophet’s name in vain?”

“Don’t remind me,” Elissa said, pushing thoughts of that near-disaster away. “But let’s find out.”

She took the lead into the passage. A chill ran through her, and she kept her dagger loose. The Corruption might have disappeared, but something just as foreboding had taken its place, and she did not want to be caught by surprise. Even her Shard was on edge, and she resisted the temptation to hold her hand over it.

The corridor ahead remained blocked, but the adjacent rooms were clear. Elissa made for the left side, mirroring the path they had previously taken. Torches filled the brackets on the walls, but even their warmth could not banish the frosty atmosphere. The tiles crunched beneath their boots, and Elissa slowed, not wanting to alert eyes she could not see.

A second doorway appeared, heralding a stairwell. Elissa ignored it, keeping to the main route, when Bethany grabbed her wrist.

“Wait.” The mage nodded to the stairs. “There’s something weird down there.”

Elissa raised a brow. “Like what?”

“It’s just a feeling,” Bethany said, “but I think we should check it out.”

Shrugging, Elissa turned and headed down the steps. The damp made her cough, and splashes of cold dripped onto her shoulders. They were probably below one of the water channels.

As they descended, a shiver ran through her Shard.

“Something’s definitely down here,” she said, tensing.

“Even I can feel it,” Alistair admitted, drawing his sword. “Be on your guard.”

Elissa pulled her dagger free, venturing down the last of the steps. Their footfalls echoed, until they reached another chamber. Elissa licked her lips, looking around. The ceiling was low, and abandoned barrels littered the floor. Then her gaze fell to the corner, and her heart almost sprang out of her chest.

Six women stood motionless in the darkness, but their breathing betrayed the illusion. Their clothes were ragged, and some sported wounds as well. More discerningly, they were all dark-haired, and all held the same empty, unfocused stare.

“Maker’s breath,” Alistair whispered. “Are…Are they…”

Elissa approached, her stomach knotted. The women looked right through her, completely oblivious. Swallowing, Elissa touched the first woman’s hand, but received no response.

“What have they done to them?” Bethany pressed close to Elissa, her face pale. “It’s like they’ve been made Tranquil, only worse. But none of them are mages!”

A flash from the dark future crept into Elissa’s thoughts, and she shuddered. Had this been how Leliana had met such a fate?

_Not that that’s ever going to happen…_

Wary, Bethany raised her hand, a healing spell at her fingertips. However, when she neared the first woman, the light vanished. The mage gasped.

“I don’t think we can do anything for them,” Elissa said, biting back the bile in her throat. This was worse than she’d feared.

“Maybe not, but we _can_ stop this madness,” Alistair growled. “We need to get to that Chamber of Light before they take their next victim!”

He ran back up the steps, Elissa and Bethany in tow. At the top, Elissa grabbed his arm.

“They still don’t know we’re here,” she said. “We need to take them by surprise.”

Alistair clenched his teeth. “Right, of course.”

At a more controlled pace, they crept to the last room. Just beyond stood the balcony that overlooked the chamber, but another ward had been cast. Still, it did nothing to block the voices, and Elissa peered between the railings. Bethany focused on the barrier, trying to unravel it.

“Let me go!” barked the soldier, her accent Orlesian. She was chained to the wall, her arms spread painfully behind her. Elissa winced, reminded of her own ordeal in the Haven dungeon. It stirred her Shard, and she swallowed. Now was not the time to get lost in the past.

“Oh, such a temper!” the apostate woman chuckled. She lowered her hood, revealing her sandy-blonde locks. Nine other cultists gathered around, forming a semi-circle. “That rage is exactly what we have been missing.”

“You are all out of your minds!” the soldier spat. “Release me, and all those others, before…”

“Enough!” The apostate’s palm cracked against her prisoner’s face. Blood trickled from the soldier’s nostril, and she choked. “Bow your head, warrior, and open your heart, for your sacrifice serves a cause greater than you will ever know!”

The apostate raised her hand, and an amulet dangled from her fingers. The amethyst sparkled, and the soldier’s gaze turned blank. Elissa clutched her chest, her Shard stinging, and Bethany snatched a sharp breath. There was potent magic in that stone.

The moment was short-lived. Seconds later the soldier snarled, snapping back to consciousness. Her eyes blazed, and she thrashed against her chains.

“I’ll kill you _all!_ ” she screamed.

“Yes, yes!” the apostate gloated. “Let anger course through you, set your spirit on fire!”

She lowered her arm, and three of her companions raised their staffs. Their tips glowed white, and then brilliant lightning erupted. The soldier howled, the bolts tearing into her. Deep welts burned into her torso, and the amulet glistened. Eyes wild, she strained against her bonds once more, blood trailing down her wrists.

“More.” The hunger in the apostate’s gaze deepened. “Hatred must infuse her, bring her soul to bursting!”

The apostates let loose another charge, and Bethany tensed. She had seen enough.

She renewed her efforts against the ward, muttering under her breath. Elissa scowled, drawing her sword, and Alistair glared. These monsters would never know what hit them.

The lightning died, and the soldier sagged in her chains. Soaked in sweat, she weakly raised her head. The rage had dimmed, drowned by despair.

“Why…” Her voice was broken. “I’ve done…nothing wrong…”

“There is no room in Andraste’s heart for mercy,” a cultist hissed. “Not when none was ever shown to her!”

Another spark, and the soldier cried out. Bethany bared her teeth.

“No…more,” the soldier whimpered. “What…do you want…”

“We want justice!” The apostate leader began to pace. “The original sin of the Maker, the sin that still taints this world, must be atoned for.” She glanced to her amulet. “When He slayed the Goddess, He brought disaster to His own creation. In repentance, He tried to raise her again, but Andraste saw through His arrogance and spurned His will!” She raised the amulet once more, letting it sway. “Now the time of her final ascension approaches, and so we prepare for her coming. And once our Lady is restored, she will return this world to chaos and set us free!”

The amulet flashed, and Elissa bit back a cry. A piercing bolt burrowed into her Shard, and the soldier shrieked. Bethany growled, thrusting her hands apart, and at last the ward shattered. Gasping, Elissa pushed pain to the back of her mind, then charged.

She leapt over the balcony rail, slamming into the first cultist. Her dagger sank between his shoulder-blades, and he croaked, falling limp. The others scattered, and mana infused the air.

“What?!” The apostate leader snatched the amulet close. “Destroy them!”

She made to escape, but Bethany was faster, and an air spell sent her reeling. Alistair roared, ripping into the apostates. Fire and lightning flew in all directions, and Elissa answered in howling fury. Her blades were a whirlwind, and her Shard glowed, fuelled by the energies around her. Magic glanced off her like raindrops, and her sword soon tasted blood.

She came to Bethany’s side, facing the apostate leader. Bethany’s force spell had her pinned against the wall, and Elissa turned her dagger on her. The woman writhed, trying to raise her amulet. Her eyes were venomous.

“You!” she choked out. “How did…you find…”

“What the hell have you been doing to these women?” Elissa snarled, her dagger at the apostate’s throat.

“You…understand nothing!” the apostate growled. “This ground is…too sacred…for you! Begone!”

Bethany glowered, clenching her staff tighter. The pressure increased, and the apostate groaned, her ribs cracking.

“Tell us how to reverse it,” the mage demanded. “Now!”

The apostate spat, hissing. Elissa’s lip curled. She pressed her blade harder.

“Answer her,” she said, her voice low.

The apostate started to laugh.

“You cannot…reverse redemption!” Her stare locked onto Elissa. “ _Usurper_ …you will perish…at our mistress’s hand…and the True One…will…lead us...to the future!”

Her amulet flared, and Bethany cried out. The mage’s spell shattered, and Elissa was knocked back. The apostate gasped, falling to her knees. She kept hold of the amethyst, and thrust her arm upwards. The gemstone flashed, and Bethany screamed. The mage’s eyes turned blank, and her arms hung limp.

“No!” Elissa struck before she could think. Her blade tore into the apostate, and the woman gurgled. Her eyes rolled upward, and she slumped to the ground. The amulet fell silent, and Bethany crumpled.

“Beth!” Elissa caught the mage in her arms. Her Shard burned, still sore from the fading magic. “Are you alright?”

For a moment Bethany remained stock still. Heart racing, Elissa grabbed her shoulders, giving a forceful shake. The rune on her chest flashed, and Bethany’s eyes snapped open. The colour returned to her cheeks, and Elissa held her breath.

“I-I’m okay.” Bethany wiped her forehead, her arms trembling. “You stopped her in time.”

“Thank the Maker!” Elissa said, pulling her into a hug. “Damned witch. She got what she deserved.”

She helped the mage to her feet, surveying the mess. The fallen cultists surrounded them, scattered between the rubble. Alistair had freed the soldier, but she wasn’t responding. Her eyes were washed out, unfocused; just like the others.

“We’re too late.” Alistair’s voice was bitter. He draped the soldier’s arm over his shoulder, helping to support her. “But at least no-one else needs to suffer the same fate.”

Bethany scowled. She stormed to the dead apostate, plucking the amulet from her fingers.

“There has to be a way to make this work!” She held the relic, studying it closely. “If I can…”

Abruptly the amethyst shimmered. Elissa flinched, her Shard set off once again. Her eyes narrowed. Why had the rune become so sensitive?

“Looks like that thing doesn’t agree with you much,” Alistair commented. “It must be very powerful.”

“It’s more than that.” Bethany turned to Elissa. “The mana inside this, it’s almost identical to your Shard!”

Elissa blinked. “You can tell that?”

Bethany clasped her fingers around the chain, closing her eyes.

“Yes, it’s resonating energy,” she said, “just like the Shards do whenever you or Lara use their power.” She chewed her lip. “But that can’t be possible.”

“I wonder if that’s what they were guarding,” Alistair said, thoughtful. “Though why they then decided to take hostages is beyond me.”

“Maybe…” Bethany took Elissa’s shoulder. “If this has the same power as your Shard, maybe you’d be able to use it?”

Elissa tensed. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I could easily make things worse.”

“But we can’t leave these women like this!” Bethany protested. “Besides, you were able to snap me out of it just now. And…” She hesitated, further thoughts on her lips, but then changed her mind. “Look, we have to try.”

She offered the amulet. Elissa stared, still unwilling, but then she squared her jaw and took it. Even she would not do nothing when there was a chance to reverse such damage.

The amethyst pulsed at her touch. Her Shard flickered in answer, generating warmth instead of pain, and Elissa gasped. A pale glow gathered around the gemstone, drifting into the open. The aura hovered for a moment, then burst into a ring of light.

The soldier spluttered, as if surfacing from deep water. She looked around, frantic.

“Maker’s breath, where…what…” She shoved Alistair away, bracing her fists. “Who are you?!”

“Hey, easy, easy,” Alistair held up his hands. “We’re not with these lunatics. We’re from the Inquisition, we’re here to help.”

“The Inquisition?” The soldier blinked, pressing her palm to her forehead. Eventually recognition dawned, and she nodded. “Yes, I have heard of you.” More seemed to return to her, and she shook her head.

“Do you remember how you got here?” Bethany asked.

“No, I do not seem to recall,” the soldier said. “My name is Ceres. I work for the Imperial Spymaster.” She rubbed her temple, trying to organise her thoughts. “A few weeks ago, I was tasked to look into strange disappearances occurring in Val Foret. Alas, it seems I merely ended up another victim.”

“The cultists must have kidnapped you,” Elissa said. “I’m sorry.”

Ceres raised a brow.

“You are apologizing for saving my life?” She chuckled. “You Fereldens are strange ones, indeed. Please, it was my own carelessness that landed me here. And you have my eternal thanks.”

“We’ll take you back to our camp,” Bethany said. “Then hopefully you can get in touch with your comrades. But let me patch you up first.”

Ceres nodded. As Bethany tended her wounds, Elissa stared at the amulet. Her Shard continued to prickle, and she chewed her lip. She was familiar enough to realise that it was not quite the same. If anything, it felt more like a…replica.

_But who could have created such a thing?_

A sudden scream broke through, and Elissa snapped her head up. It had come from the upper rooms.

“Great, more trouble!” Alistair snarled.

He nodded at Elissa, and they bolted to the ladder. Elissa scrambled up first, charging back to the underground room. Something must have happened to the captives. Water dribbled onto her arms, and she drew her sword, jumping the steps two at a time.

The moment she hit the bottom, however, something cracked against the back of her head. Stars flew, and she stumbled, dropping her blade. Hands tore into her hair, and then the amulet was snatched free.

“Elissa!” Alistair cried. A crash of metal on metal followed, and then Alistair groaned, thrown against the wall. The taste of mana laced the air, and then footsteps retreated, growing faint. Elissa tried to take chase, but she fell back to her knees, the world spinning. Her head was pounding, and she grasped her scalp. Maker, that _hurt_ …

“Maker’s breath, are you alright?”

A kindly voice helped break the dizziness, and Elissa opened her eyes. One of the women had come beside her. The warmth and colour had returned to her eyes, which matched the green of her neckerchief.

“Ow,” Elissa mumbled, blinking the spots away. “I’ll…I’ll be fine. I think.”

“We thank you,” the woman said, managing a smile. “You broke that horrible spell, and we are all returned to our senses.”

Elissa gasped, suddenly reminded. She opened her palms, both empty, and swore. The amulet!

“Bastard got away!” Alistair grumbled, throwing his shield to the ground. His ankles were encased in ice, although it was rapidly melting. “But at least you’re all safe.”

“Until they try again,” another woman answered. “Blasphemous devils, sullying the Holy Prophet’s name like this!”

“Do you have any idea what they were after?” Elissa asked.

“Not precisely,” the woman with the neckerchief answered, “but I remember hearing some unsettling things, before they…” She shivered, not wanting to finish her train of thought. “Anyway, they claim the Chantry’s tellings are all falsehood. Instead they believe Andraste was the reincarnation of an ancient goddess, and the Maker actually had a hand in her unjust murder.”

“Eh, seems up there with believing she was reincarnated as a dragon,” Alistair mused.

“But they take this belief too far,” the woman said. “They even have _prophecies_ about her!” She shook her head. “They think the time of her final judgement draws near, and she will take the form of a dark-haired woman with green eyes. So they have been…” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “… _testing_ for her. That was what left us in that awful state.”

Elissa’s blood went cold. She clenched her fist. No, that was stupid, incoherent rubbish. It had to be.

“So, that’s what this was all about.” Alistair’s brows narrowed. “We can’t let them continue this.”

“No,” Elissa said, swallowing back her unease. “We need to talk to Harding, see if she can pick up their trail.”

“Then we wish you luck,” the woman with the neckerchief said. “But to whom do we owe our thanks?”

“The Inquisition,” Alistair said simply. “Come with us, we’ll see that you get safely home.”

“You are most kind,” the woman said. “And thank you once again.”

She walked to the steps, the others following in her wake. Elissa sighed, picking up her fallen sword and taking the rear. It was only now she noticed the eye colour of the remaining victims, and along with the earlier revelation, her disquiet gnawed deeper.

_Andraste’s rebirth is foretold as a dark-haired woman with green eyes?_

_But…how is that even…_

“Elissa, knock it off.” Alistair touched her wrist. “Don’t give these Children of Andraste any more thought than they deserve.” He made a motion of rolling his finger against his temple. “It’s all crazy cultist nonsense, you know that. About as much bullshit as that Haven lot who were convinced that High Dragon was also the prophet.”

Elissa let out a breath.

“Yeah,” she murmured, pressing her fingers against her chest. Of course it was all nonsense; no different to any other wild claim she had heard in the past.

So why then did that thought well such dread?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it’s Team Hawke’s turn! Apologies for the long delay, I went on holiday and got sick, and am only now just recovered. I’m also working on a side story, ‘Curse’, featuring Leliana’s point of view of this series, so I might flit between the two.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Varric almost choked on his ale. “We’re going _there?!_ ”

Hawke laughed, draping her arm around the dwarf’s shoulders. She’d thought Varric would not take the news well, hence why she’d decided to conceal her plan until they were almost at their destination. They were passing away the evening in a tavern near Lake Callenhad, pretty much the only patrons there. Fenris shook his head, sipping his wine, while Merrill played with her mug, humming to herself.

“Surely Orzammar’s not that bad?” Hawke asked, her tone innocent.

“Do you even realise what you’re saying?” Varric held a palm to his head. “I’d rather be back playing tag with that High Dragon in the Frostbacks. Besides, there’s plenty of Deep Roads elsewhere. Can’t we go someplace else?”

“You can’t tell me the dwarves have been ignoring Corruption when it’s running rampant on their doorstep,” Hawke pointed out. “It’s the best place to start finding a way to remove it.”

“Maybe, but if they had anything useful to offer, my contacts would’ve told me,” Varric said. “I still think we’re better off returning to Ansburg, where you first saw the stuff.”

“I appreciate the idea, but from what Aveline’s been telling me, we need to steer clear of the Free Marches for now.” Hawke rested her heels up on the table. “If you really don’t want to come, you can always turn back for Skyhold…”

“No way.” Varric downed the rest of his ale in one gulp. “This is the most time I’ve gotten to spend with you in ages, I’m making the most of it.” He managed a chortle. “Doesn’t mean I won’t still be complaining all the way.”

“Do you honestly feel the dwarves will be willing to help, Amber?” Fenris asked, swirling the last of his wine in its glass. “They’ve been very quiet about Corruption since the beginning, and that worries me.”

“I imagine they quite like having a comfort blanket against the darkspawn,” Hawke said, “but we can’t let it keep spreading, even if it’s good for some things.” She ran a finger around her tankard. “If it ever breaks onto the surface…”

A sudden prickle ran through her Shard, and Hawke blinked. She let her feet drop, and not a moment later one of the barmaids yelped. Hawke snapped her head around, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. A hooded figure had staggered inside, holding a hand across his stomach. Dark crimson stained his fingers, and he trembled, his breaths ragged.

“Please…help…me…”

He made to stagger to the nearest table, but his legs gave way. More blood dribbled onto the floor, and he groaned.

Hawke abandoned her drink and scrambled to his side. He was certainly well wrapped up—a scarf covered most of his face, and his arms were protected with leather gauntlets and gloves. Her gaze fell to his injury, noting the clean rip through his cloak and shirt. A knife-wound.

“Hey, what happened?” She snatched a rag from her pouch, pressing it against the bleeding tear. Stranger or not, she couldn’t just leave him like this.

The man took a gasping breath. “They’re…right behind…”

Hawke frowned, and not just for his words. Something about the man’s voice seemed awfully familiar.

Before she could think on it further, the tavern doors barged open again, and mutterings in a foreign tongue caught her ear. Two men stormed towards her, wearing unusual robes, and both carried swords.

“You there, get away from him!” The first man’s accent was thickly Tevinter. “He is our prisoner!”

“Prisoner?” Hawke raised a brow. If these sort were after him, he must have fled a long way indeed. She glanced back to the wounded man, when a hand touched her shoulder.

“We should not get involved.” Fenris’s voice was low, his eyes never leaving the men. He made to pull Hawke back, but she resisted.

“Hang on,” she protested. “Seems a little mean to throw him back when he’s pretty beaten up?”

“We will deal with that,” the Tevinter man snarled. “Now get out of our way, before you join him!”

Hawke scowled. However, at that moment, the wounded man hissed. He forced his eyes open, then pushed Hawke away.

“I…will never…”

He clawed to his feet, and a chilling charge filled the air. Hawke grimaced, her forehead tingling, and even Fenris flinched. So, he was a mage? But this was more than that. The taste of static on her tongue, the cold running down her spine like ice water…she had only felt such things once before. Yet that was impossible.

Because it would mean that this man was…

The man’s eyes took on a blueish glow, and he thrust out his palm. The two men braced their weapons, and their blades sparkled with lyrium. The spell vanished, absorbed into the steel, and the mage cried out, dropping to his knees. Yelling, the men charged.

“Wait!” Hawke jumped in front of them. Her Shard came to life, and the pair stopped in mid-strike. Hawke kept their gaze, and they started to fall under her thrall. The tiniest of smirks graced her lips. “He’s not that important, right?”

The Tevinters looked at each other, bemused.

“I mean, you’re a long way from home, you must be missing it a lot,” Hawke went on, letting her power sink further. “Why not go back?”

One of the men blinked.

“Yes,” He sheathed his sword. “I’m sick of this backwater dump of a country. We don’t need him. We will return to Minrathous at once.”

His comrade nodded, and without another word they slipped into the night. Sighing, Hawke let her Shard dim, wondering how she had ever coped without its tricks.

As the rune fell quiet, the mage’s eyes rolled upwards, and he collapsed.

“Whoa!” Hawke sprang to his side, and she carefully laid him on his back. Courtesy fell away, and she ripped his scarf off. Though his face bore new scars, half-hidden by an unkempt beard, there was no mistaking who had called forth such power.

“Andraste’s ass, is that who I think is?!” Varric spluttered.

Hawke could only nod, her fist clenching.

“What the hell are you doing here, Anders?” She turned to Fenris. “Give me a hand.”

The elf warrior snarled.

“I will _not_ …”

“That was an order, not a request!” Hawke snapped. “We’ll argue about what to do with him later.”

Fenris’s scowl darkened, but he made no further protest. Reluctantly he took Anders’s arm, and along with Hawke they carried him to the upper rooms. Varric tossed the barman some extra sovereigns, muttering an apology, before he and Merrill also followed.

Hawke slung the unconscious mage onto the bed, making short work to expose the wound. His cloak was ridiculously heavy, weighed down with Maker-knew what. Now she realised why he was so covered up—every blemish on his skin had taken a faint glow, similar to the lyrium markings Fenris bore.

_What in the Maker’s name had he done to himself?_

Merrill rummaged in her pack, producing a suturing kit, antiseptic salts and some bandages.

“I’ll fix him up in no time,” she proclaimed. Hawke shifted aside, letting her do her work. Pained memories had already started to creep back, and she shook her head. This was the last thing she needed.

Thankfully the cut was not as deep as first appeared, and soon it was cleaned and mended. As Merrill washed her hands in the basin, Hawke made to drape Anders’ cloak over him, when something inside brushed her leg.

“Maker, what’s he keeping in this thing?” She foraged in the inner pocket, removing a black leather tome. Its binding had gold gilding, although its title was in Tevene, so she had no idea what it said. She chewed her lip. It seemed Anders had run very far indeed since fleeing Kirkwall.

But why was the Imperium after him?

“Something tells me this isn’t a coincidence,” Varric remarked, holding a hand to his chin.

“And here I was hoping for no surprises,” Hawke muttered.

“We’ll see what he has to say for himself,” Fenris growled.

Merrill returned to Anders, her staff in hand. She lightly tapped his forehead, and Anders mumbled, brought back to wakefulness. His eyes flickered open, and he made to sit, groggy. Fenris bared his teeth, while Hawke folded her arms.

“Long time no see, Anders,” she greeted, though her tone was anything but warm. “If I’d known we’d be running into each other, I’d have brought a gift.”

Anders glanced aside.

“It’s been…a little while, hasn’t it?” He held a hand to his head. “But I’m glad I’ve finally found you. It’s good to see you again.”

That was too much. Snarling, Hawke’s hand shot out, grabbing his neck. Anders gasped, but made no motion to resist.

“You give me one reason I shouldn’t finish the Tevinter’s job right this second,” Hawke rumbled. All the fury and frustration of that night in Kirkwall had come flooding back, and she could barely contain herself. “Do you have any idea what you did? What your actions _cost?_ ” Her arm shook. “And then you were so cowardly you just turned tail and ran!”

“I am…well aware.” Anders’s voice was quiet, but firm. “I’m sorry…it didn’t work out…as I hoped.”

“Is that all you have to say?!” Hawke’s clenched her fingers harder. Anders croaked, feebly reaching for her hand. “You brought a city to its knees, you started a war that’s now led to an even bigger mess, you even tore my sister away from me again!” Her Shard began to stir. “If you think you can just crawl back and _act like nothing changed_ …”

“Hey, don’t be too rough on Blondie, Hawke,” Varric broke in. “He can’t talk if he’s being choked to death!”

Hawke bit her lip. The dwarf was right. Much as she wanted to give Anders what for, something else was going on, and she needed to know the full deck before she could play her hand.

She threw Anders back to the bed. The mage coughed, clasping his newly sutured wound. Merrill took his arm, helping him to lay down.

 “You shouldn’t be too angry,” she said quietly. “It sounds like he really wanted to see you again. He must have missed you a lot.”

“Oh, he’ll be wishing he never left my side, alright.” Hawke took a breath, reigning in the rage threatening to take over. Keep it together.

Swallowing, she held up the book. “Okay, let’s start with this. I’m guessing it’s the reason Tevinter’s on your back?”

Anders managed a nod. He sat up against the pillows, catching his breath. Once he was recovered, he reached into his cloak, pulling out a vial. Hawke recognised it as pethirine, and waited as he downed the pain-killing medicine. He remained silent for a while, gathering his thoughts.

“I didn’t expect our reunion to go smoothly,” he said. “I truly am sorry, Amber. But it had to be done, and now there’s something worse than Templars that threatens all mages.” He rested his hands on his stomach. “I came across it shortly after I went ahead with the rebellion. It seemed relatively harmless, but I’ve since seen if it’s not stopped, it could destroy us all.”

“Let me guess, it’s an underground mist that blocks a mage’s powers, and can corrode whatever’s around it?” Hawke offered.

A relieved smile fell upon Anders. “Then it is true. You _have_ been trying to combat it.”

“Hmm, did a little bird tell you?” Hawke asked.

“One of the Ansburg Wardens,” Anders admitted. “They also told me Templars were trying to weaponize the mist against mages. Of course, I had no means to challenge them, as it even stops Justice manifesting, so I had to find other ways.”

“I thought that was him earlier,” Hawke said. “Although he’s not nearly as impressive as he used to be. Those Tevinters shrugged him off like he was nothing.”

“It’s the fault of the mist,” Anders said. “It’s made Justice much weaker, and I fear soon he’ll disappear forever. Even my spirit can’t sustain him anymore.”

“And what about you?” Merrill asked. “Will you disappear as well?”

“I don’t know, and frankly I don’t care.” Anders glanced to the scars on his torso. “I’ve tried a few things to slow his decay, but they won’t last. But that’s not what I came to talk about.”

“Go on,” Hawke prompted.

“I joined some mage Wardens who were also investigating the mist,” Anders went on. “They seemed to think we would find answers in Tevinter. So we scoured their archives, raided their libraries, risked anything and everything to find _something_ to defend ourselves.” His eyes fell to the tome in Hawke’s grasp. “And finally, we did. That was when I knew I had to find you. I won’t get much further without your help.”

“Must be important then, if Tevinter were willing to send soldiers after you,” Varric chimed.

“Pray tell, what did you find?” Hawke asked.

Anders licked his lips. He gestured for the book, and Hawke handed it over.

“What the Chantry tells us about Andraste is a lie,” he said, flicking through the pages. “And the lies we think Tevinter preach are actually closer to the real truth.”

Hawke stiffened. Part of her chided that she shouldn’t have been so surprised, but she couldn’t shake her disquiet. Why did all matters concerning Corruption always lead back to the prophet?

“Tevinter holds that Andraste was a mage, but she was even more than that,” Anders continued. “Somehow, she was born with the soul of an ancient goddess, and had the power to control ‘the black heart of darkness’. From how they describe it, it sounds exactly like the mist, meaning it’s been around for a long, long time.”

“Wow, that’s one conspiracy I haven’t heard before,” Varric mused. “Where did that nonsense come from, some underground cult?”

“It’s more credible than you realise,” Anders said. “This book was the most detailed, but there are hundreds of them in the Black Divine’s Holy Vault, and they all speak of the same thing. And it’s a truth Tevinter doesn’t want widely known.”

“Seems strange for them to be so protective over it,” Hawke commented. “No matter how twisted the true story of the prophet might be, the Chantry would just deny it as heresy.”

“Maybe, but you haven’t heard it all yet,” Anders said. “When Andraste marched to Tevinter, the magisters at the time realised her true power. So they imprisoned her and tried to extract her soul for themselves. Such attempts failed, of course, and Andraste died. But Andraste herself crafted a relic to save her soul, should this happen, and after her death, the Tevinters got hold of it. So they conjured up a doppelganger, who was later burned at the stake, and kept experimenting, until that relic was eventually stolen and lost. I believe the Tevinter Chantry are still seeking it, which is why they’ve done all they can to keep it a secret.”

He held the book aloft, revealing a drawing of the relic. At once Hawke’s jaw hung slack. Merrill held her hands to her mouth, and Varric and Fenris could only stare, eyes wide.

“No freaking way…” Hawke could barely get the words out. Yet there was no denying the goddess statue with its winged helmet and scythe.

_The same statue she, Elissa and Lahara had found in the lost temple._

“What’s the matter?” Anders raised a brow. Slowly, realisation dawned, and he caught his breath. “Wait, have you seen this somewhere?!”

“I’ve more than seen it.” Hawke closed her eyes, and the rune on her forehead flashed. “It’s become a part of me.”

Anders gasped.

“Then...then _you_ have Andraste’s lost power!”

“Not quite,” Hawke said. “I only have a third of it. The rest was split between my good friends Elissa Cousland and Lahara Trevelyan.”

“The Hero and the Herald?” Anders blinked. “But how?” He shook his head. “How were you able to even _find_ it? Tevinter’s searched for centuries, and have never even come close!”

“It’s a long story,” Hawke answered, rubbing her temple. “One I don’t want to get into right now. But all you need to know is that these Shards of Andraste _do_ work against Corruption, and we’re going to use it to eradicate it completely.”

Anders sat straighter. “Then I’m coming with you.”

“No.” Fenris spoke before Hawke. “You will not trick us again.”

“This is no trick!” Anders snapped. “However powerful your ‘Shard’ might be, it won’t do any good unless you know where best to use it. I have that information, and much more.”

“Then hand it over and be on your way!” Fenris spat.

Anders’s eyes began to flare. “This doesn’t concern…”

“Alright, cut it out!” Hawke barked, coming between the two. “This has become enough of a headache, I won’t have it get any worse.” She ran a hand through her hair. Like it or not, there was only one real choice. “Look Fenris, I’d rather not believe him, either, but we can’t look a gift horse in the mouth. The safest option is to bring him along.”

“I won’t accept that!” Fenris retorted. “He led us into a trap before, how do we know any of what he’s saying is even the truth?”

“You can’t deny that statue was the one Elissa activated,” Hawke shot back. “Just as you can’t deny the existence of these Shards, and you’ve seen they’re the only thing Corruption reacts to. That’s more than enough for me.” She turned to Anders. “But that doesn’t mean I trust you, Anders. I’m not that naïve to think you’ve not been tempted to weaponize Corruption yourself.”

Anders’s brows narrowed. “I would never…”

“Play innocent all you want. I know you,” Hawke interrupted. The rune on her forehead flickered, and Anders winced, his own markings stirred. “And if you’re going to be tagging along, you’ll be playing by _my_ rules. You disagree, the door’s right there.”

Anders clenched his teeth. He stared at the bed, deliberating with himself. Eventually he let out a breath, and met Hawke’s gaze.

“Fine.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And welcome to Team Lahara…
> 
> This is significantly different to the game’s version of events, just to warn you, so expect omissions and alterations.

 

The carriage ride to Halamshiral was more comfortable than Lahara was used to, but it was no less as tedious. She let out another sigh, curling up on the halla-leather seats. Josephine and Leliana sat opposite, exchanging fond memories of their last visit. Leliana was most animated, her words like liquid silver, and it made Lahara smile. Her companions often spoke of the spymaster’s penchant for storytelling, although Leliana seemed to have done everything to deny that so far. Now her silent burden had been cast off, it was as if she were making up for lost time, and Lahara knew exactly who to thank for it.

Of course, thinking about Elissa also triggered thoughts of a certain mage, and Lahara rested her chin in her hand. Bethany’s absence left a dull ache inside, but at the same time, Lahara was relieved Elissa hadn’t gone on her journey alone. In truth, it was the best compromise, as the pair were used to looking out for each other. After all, they had spent four years on the run, and Alistair was no push-over, either. They would be just fine.

Still, Lahara was nothing if not impatient. Since she and Bethany had admitted their feelings for each other, this would be the longest time they’d spent apart. Their mission couldn’t be over soon enough.

“So, Lara, will this be your first time attending such an occasion?” Josephine asked, breaking the Herald’s thoughts. “Although I imagine as a Trevelyan, you must have been invited to many noble gatherings.”

“Oh, I only ever went to just one,” Lahara said, sitting properly again. “My first _and_ last.” She fingered her lyrium collar, which was half-hidden by her dress uniform. “I was eight years old, and it was the Marquis of Markham’s anniversary or something. When we arrived, my parents promptly dumped me with the other brats to go and socialise.” She smirked, and her collar clicked. “This girl, daughter of some baron I think, felt she was so much better than me. Kept making fun of my outfit, my hair, my eyes, you know, all that stuff. So I let her keep goading and goading…and then I set her dress on fire.”

Leliana chuckled, while Josephine raised a brow.

“First time the Markham Templars were forced to escort a mage to Ostwick in one night, the baroness paid them so much,” Lahara went on, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Joseph almost had kittens when I showed up at the Dragon Tower the next day. Had to pick his jaw up for him!”

“Oh, that’s right, your brother was a mage as well.” Josephine became subdued. “I am sorry, Lara. I didn’t think…”

“Don’t sweat it, Josie.” Lahara brushed off her concern. “I prefer remembering those times, not…what happened in the end.” She smirked, letting darker thoughts fall aside. “But don’t worry, I don’t plan to set anyone on fire this time. Then again, if I’m bored, I could always freeze someone into an ice statue…”

“Lara, you wouldn’t!” Josephine spluttered.

“You wouldn’t be the first to do so, Inquisitor,” Leliana pointed out.

“Well, that makes it all the more acceptable then,” Lahara said. Josephine glared at her, and the Herald laughed. “Aw come on, I’m only joking!”

“You had better be,” the ambassador huffed. “We have enough eyes upon us without you causing a scene.”

“Heh, don’t need to tell me twice,” Lahara said. “Seriously, it sounds like this get-together is a really big do, even for Orlais.”

“It is indeed,” Leliana said. “The fate of the empire lies at stake. And the Winter Palace is as treacherous a battleground as any front line.”

“Except here the duels are fought with words, not blades,” Josephine added. “Well…no blades used in public view, at least.”

“I guess I’d better watch my back, then,” Lahara said. She brought a hand to her chin. “So, if I’ve got this straight, we’re supposed to get cosy with Duke Gaspard, and make him support us rather than our darkspawn abomination friend?” Leliana and Josephine nodded. “Do we have much in the way of a strategy for this?”

“Our main priority is information,” Leliana answered. “I am mostly aware of the current goings on, but having first-hand knowledge will be better. Celene’s involvement with the elves had dredged up much controversy, and we will need to know where this leaves her.”

“Yeah, you two are accomplished players of the Game, after all,” Lahara said. “I’ll just pose for the curious onlookers and wait for your cue.”

“Curious onlookers there will be plenty,” Josephine said. “You will be a novelty, Inquisitor, and idle tongues will speak freely about you. Not all pleasantly, either. Many will try to use you to gain favour with the Duke, or whisper to the Empress that we are a threat. You must choose how you speak and act carefully.”

“Oh, the trials of being famous,” Lahara grumbled, resting her hands behind her head. It seemed the part of her life she had been glad to leave behind had returned to haunt her. “Alright, so we’re just watching and waiting for the time-being. I can handle that.”

“You might need to be a little more pro-active later,” Leliana said. “We will have to see what unfolds.”

The conversation fell away, but it was just as well, as shortly after their carriage came to a halt. Lahara glanced out of the window, catching the silhouette of the palace. She licked her lips, her heart pounding, and her collar clicked again. Here went nothing.

The carriage door opened, and an Inquisition soldier offered his hand. Lahara took it, and stepped out before the gates. The gardens were brimming with nobles, and Lahara could not hold back her gasp as her eyes fell upon the Winter Palace. It was unlike anything she had ever seen, a sprawling mass of blue, white and gold, with balconies draped in foliage, high turrets and scores of bright porticoes. A magnificent fountain graced the front, and beneath the full moon it seemed even more enchanting.

A nudge caught her side, and Lahara closed her mouth. Josephine giggled.

“I felt the same way the first time I laid eyes on it, too,” the ambassador admitted. “It is not a sight easily forgotten.”

“It’s, ah, it’s got nothing on the Griffon Tower in Ostwick,” Lahara said, rubbing the back of her neck. Maker, she must have looked graceful.

“Wait until you see the inside,” Leliana added. She was leaning on an ivory cane, and Lahara caught the silver nightingale on its handle. The Herald’s brow arched.

“Can you walk with just that?” she asked.

“I can now.” Leliana glanced to her left leg. “Dagna and Eliza crafted a brace for me, and it has been very helpful.” She raised her cane, proving she could even stand without its help. “Perhaps with more training I might be able to walk without aid altogether, but I will take things slowly.”

“That’s fantastic,” Lahara said, brushing her fingers against her lyrium collar. “We’re lucky to have those two, aren’t we? I bet Elissa will be chuffed when she gets back.”

Before Leliana could answer, steps approached, and the rest of Lahara’s entourage appeared. Lahara surveyed them, and couldn’t help but smile. It was strange to see everyone in dress uniform, especially Iron Bull and Solas, but it did wonders for their presentation. The Inquisition were a force to be reckoned with, and it was about time they were recognised for it.

“So, this is the famous Winter Palace,” Dorian remarked, twirling his moustache. “It’s making me homesick already.”

“It has not changed one bit.” Cassandra’s lip curled, and she folded her arms. “That is not a good thing.”

“It’s certainly…very Orlesian,” Cullen muttered, fiddling with his gloves. His brow glistened slightly, and he shuffled on his feet. Lahara had to hold back her smirk. He seemed very uncomfortable in such an environment. Solas, too, was similarly edgy, but for altogether different reasons.

“Hey, it’s a party, and you know what that means!” Iron Bull slammed his palm into Cullen’s back, and the Commander coughed. “Cut loose, man, let yourself live a little!”

“Please show some decorum, Iron Bull!” Josephine said. “At least until we are formally announced.”

“Yes, let us not keep the Duke waiting.” Leliana nodded towards the gardens. “We are his honoured guests, after all.”

“Let’s say hello, then,” Lahara said.

Squaring her shoulders, the Herald sucked in a breath, then led the way through the gates. The effect was instant. Every noble turned to look, and hushed whispers spread like wildfire. Lahara swallowed, her neck clammy. She was glad for the gloves that masked the marks on her hands, although that didn’t stop people staring. Her hearing was also suddenly keen, and their words made her fist clench.

“A _mage_? I thought that was just a rumour. Andraste help us all!”

“Still, at least she is of noble blood, no?”

“A Free Marcher? The Maker has an odd sense of humour, indeed…”

Pushing such remarks to the back of her mind, Lahara scanned the garden. It did not take long before one of the nobles left the fountain and started towards her. She stepped forward, meeting eyes with the masked gentleman. It could only be the Duke himself.

“Ah, greetings, Lady Inquisitor!” he said, in a thick Orlesian accent. “It is an honour to finally meet you.”

“The honour is all mine,” Lahara answered, fighting down her grimace. She’d almost forgotten the speech pattern her parents had drilled into her when she was younger, and she was not happy to hear its return. “The Inquisition is delighted to attend at your kind invitation, your Grace.”

“I have heard many stories about your exploits,” the Duke went on. “You summoned the earth-fire of the Frostbacks themselves, and the ash cloud still drifts over Orlais, even now.” He chortled. “You are a formidable force indeed, yet your influence is not what it could be.” He paused, a smile gracing his lips. “Were you to assist the rightful Emperor in reclaiming his throne, however, that could easily be amended.”

A dry retort was on Lahara’s lips, but Josephine flashed a wary glance. Resisting the temptation to roll her eyes, Lahara took a breath.

“The Inquisition is always open to favourable alliances.” She swallowed the bile in her throat, and her collar clicked. Maker, this diplomacy burned her mouth as much as the vent chamber.

“Such a thing may come to pass by the evening’s end,” Duke Gaspard said. “Alas, before we enter the Court, there is one other matter I would like to raise, if you would be so kind.”

“I’m all ears,” Lahara said, before biting her tongue. Whoops. The vein on Josephine’s temple bulged, and she held a hand to her forehead.

The Duke raised a brow, but made no comment.

“The Empress is in danger,” he began. “I would therefore ask that you keep watch on that elven ‘ambassador’, Briala. She has a history with Celene, for she was close to my cousin, before she was arrested to cover up a political mistake.” His eyes darkened behind his mask. “Briala’s allies are everywhere, and if anyone is out to harm Celene tonight, it would be her.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open,” Lahara said. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Try to be discrete about it,” Duke Gaspard continued. “I despise the Game and its foolish machinations, but if we are not careful, _we_ will become the pawns, and our enemies will take pride in disposing of us as they see fit.”

“Got it. You won’t even know I’ve left the ballroom,” Lahara said.

“Excellent. Then let us not keep the Court waiting.” The Duke offered his arm. “Shall we, Inquisitor?”

Sighing, Lahara took the Duke’s elbow. That title was never going to grow on her.

Duke Gaspard walked slowly into the atrium, ensuring everyone was watching. More than a few mouths hung agape, and another round of bemused muttering rang through. Lahara kept her head high, although it took all of her willpower not to burst into a giggling fit. A sign of her nervousness, perhaps. She could only imagine what Josephine was thinking right now.

At last, the ballroom doors were opened, and Lahara and the Duke stepped onto the upper balcony. He released her, giving a nod, before making towards the royal herald. Lahara waited, letting her companions catch up. Someone gently poked her back, and she stiffened.

“Follow the Duke,” Leliana murmured in her ear. “Then you must address the Empress directly. We will meet up afterwards.”

Lahara gave a slight nod, wishing she didn’t feel quite so out of her depth. Adjusting her sash, she walked down the marble staircase, taking her place beside Duke Gaspard. The members of the Court turned, intent on the new guests.

“And now, presenting,” the herald called, “Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons, accomplished war veteran and respected General of the Imperial Army.”

The Duke bowed, then descended to the ballroom floor. Lahara licked her lips, resisting the urge to fiddle with her lyrium collar.

“Accompanying him, is Lady Inquisitor Lahara Nevenka Julia Trevelyan, youngest scion of House Trevelyan, esteemed Mage of Ostwick Circle, crusher of the rebel mages of Ferelden, and Champion of Lady Andraste herself.”

Lahara’s lips twitched, desperate not to break down into laughter. Her full name was haughty enough, but _esteemed mage of Ostwick? Crusher of rebel mages?_ Maker’s breath, if only Joseph could hear this now…

Before her mask would crumble, she gave a bow, then sauntered after the Duke. The announcer continued, introducing the rest of her companions. When he started on Cassandra, Lahara had to hold her hand to her mouth. And she had thought her own name lavish enough. No wonder the Seeker had been so reluctant to attend.

Eventually she joined Duke Gaspard again. They stood before the Empress, who perched behind the upper floor railing. Like all the other nobles she was similarly masked, and another woman stood beside her.

The Duke bowed his head.

“Cousin. My dear sister,” he said simply.

“Grand Duke.” Empress Celene gave a short curtsey. “We are always honoured when your presence graces the Court.”

“I do not have time for pleasantries, Celene,” the Duke answered, curt. “We have important business to conclude.”

“Once we have seen to our remaining guests, we will start the negotiations.” The Empress’s tone was unchanged. Lahara kept her gaze ahead, starting to realise why Orlesian nobility were so keen on their masks.

Duke Gaspard’s only response was a further bow. He nodded to Lahara, then clasped his arms behind his back and walked away. Lahara had no doubt he would corner her later. She was not looking forward to it.

“Lady Inquisitor, it is a joy to welcome you to the Winter Palace,” the Empress said. She glanced to the woman beside her. “May I also present our cousin, the Grand Duchess of Lydes, whom we have to thank for this gathering tonight.”

“It is a surprise to see the Inquisition joining our festivities,” the Grand Duchess said, although her voice hinted it was anything but. “We will certainly speak later. Please excuse me.”

She departed into the shadows. Lahara fought back a shiver, her skin crawling. All these veiled words and guarded intentions; how was anyone supposed to enjoy themselves? Even Hawke’s offer of trawling the Deep Roads was starting to sound more enticing.

“Lady Inquisitor, you seem lost for words.” The Empress raised a brow. “Does Halamshiral sour your tongue so?”

Lahara blinked, her cheeks flushing. Damn it, say something!

“Oh, um, not at all, Your Imperial Highness, er, quite the contrary,” she stammered. “Everything’s so, uh, _captivating_ , I’m just so overwhelmed. I have no words.”

“You kindness does you credit, Inquisitor,” Empress Celene replied, her gaze softening. “Please, do not let me keep you. Enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom.”

She turned slightly, signifying dismissal, and Lahara all but ran back to the upper balcony. Sweat pooled around her collar, and she leant against a pillar, taking slow breaths. Maker, how _embarrassing_.

“You did well, Lara.” Leliana approached from the wall, at complete ease with the environment. Lahara frowned, more than slightly jealous. “We can talk outside.”

She walked them to the nearest balcony, her cane clacking against the tiles. It did not go unnoticed, and Lahara tensed. Murmurs of ‘lame’ and ‘broken’ slipped past, and although Leliana gave no reaction, Lahara had to resist her urge to death-glare. She could not break the façade, not yet. Still, since they enjoyed their back-stabbing Game so much, she would teach them a thing or two later.

It was not a moment too soon they stepped into the cool night air. Lahara savoured the breeze, and wiped her brow. Leliana leant against the railing, her eyes expectant.

“So,” she began, “what did the Duke say?”

Lahara ran a hand through her hair. Better to focus on what they had come for.

“He seems eager to point fingers,” she said. “Asked me to keep an eye on an elven woman named Briala. He thinks she’s planning something tonight.”

“I see,” Leliana murmured. “I am not surprised, but do not let his intentions fool you. He has just as much motive to assassinate Celene, and similar means to achieve it.”

“Great, a love triangle of knives instead of roses,” Lahara muttered. “And there’s more people pulling strings than there should be.” She shook her head. “Can’t we freeze the whole place over and call it a night?”

“We never said this would be easy,” Leliana said. “This is a start, but we need more if we are to prevent Orlais collapsing. The main players are quick to accuse one another, but it is obvious another power is at work, too. Who they are acting through, however, we must find out.”

“Gotcha,” Lahara answered. “Gaspard wasn’t exactly forthcoming, so I suppose Briala is our next bet.”

“Yes,” Leliana said. “Head for the servant’s quarters, and see what you can find. My spies will continue to soak up what they can, and I will remain here.”

“Thanks, Leliana,” Lahara said. She clasped the spymaster’s shoulder. “Speaking of which, are you alright?”

Leliana let out a slow breath.

“I am…managing,” she said at last, glancing aside. “I expected such comments, it was only natural.”

“Doesn’t make them hurt any less,” Lahara said. “I can rough them up a bit from the sidelines if you want?”

Leliana smiled.

“There is no need, Inquisitor.” She fingered the pendant around her throat. “Besides, I cannot afford to be distracted.”

Lahara’s gaze softened.

“Hey, it’s not a crime to worry about her too, you know,” she said. “You don’t think I get all twisted inside about Beth?” She patted Leliana’s arm. “They’ll be fine, we just have to hang in there. We’ll all be together again before you know it.”

Leliana nodded.

“Yes, we will.” She squeezed Lahara’s wrist. “Now go, and be careful.”

* * *

 

“Well, this is a fun start.”

Lahara stepped into the servant’s wing, wincing. Dorian and Cassandra followed, similarly disquieted. The door lock had been picked, and while the hall was clear, the first room was a mess. Amongst the broken tables and benches lay several bodies, their blood cooling on the tiles. The stench was overpowering, and Lahara had to breathe through her mouth. She had not expected to find such carnage so quickly.

“And the Orlesians pride themselves on their great ‘Game’,” Dorian scoffed, avoiding the crimson puddles. “This would be considered very sloppy back home.”

“This is far too overt, even by these fools’ ridiculous ‘standards’.” Cassandra approached the nearest corpse, her brows knitted. “These are sword wounds, made by a well-trained arm.”

“Hmm, at least it’s not magic, then,” Lahara murmured. “Still, I wonder…”

She was cut off by a string of cusses, followed by the twang of a bow. It was coming from the gardens. Frowning, Lahara bolted for the door, Dorian and Cassandra at her heels.

They raced into the maze of trellises and vines. Every passage was gloomy and fragrant, threatening dead ends, but the shout came again, and eventually they emerged into the courtyard. A group of soldiers were there, facing a lone elf. She had short-cropped blonde hair, and had an arrow nocked. However, she hesitated to fire; her quiver was empty. Another elf sheltered beneath a portico, clutching their wounded arm.

“Get the sodding hell away from me, you freaky shits!” the elf spat, her voice undoubtedly Ferelden. “Eyes are _not_ supposed to glow like that!”

The soldiers grunted, and Lahara gasped. Fragments of red crystal bulged beneath their armour, casting eerie light onto their swords.

_Maker, you’ve got to be kidding me…_

“Heads up!” Lahara cried, sprinting into the fray. The soldiers hesitated, enough for Lahara to shoot a lightning spell. They cried out, swiping blind with their blades, as Dorian added ice to the mix. Cassandra charged, smashing through the first like tissue paper, and her sword cleaved the next. Lahara threw another burst of lightning, while the elf archer shot the last one in the throat.

An uneasy quiet descended, and Lahara dusted her hands. Her Shard prickled, and she clenched her jaw. This was very, very bad.

“Don’t tell me that’s you-know-what,” Dorian said, scowling at the fallen soldiers. “How in the Maker’s name did they get in contact with it?”

“No clue, but three guesses who brought it here,” Lahara drawled. She knelt beside the soldiers, stripping off their armour and exposing the crystals that still choked their flesh.

“‘Ey, you really shouldn’t touch that, yeah?” the elf warned, lowering her bow.

“It’s alright, I got this,” Lahara said. “Can’t let this stuff spread.”

She held her hand over the tainted wounds, and her Shard lit up. The crystals burned away, reduced to smoke, and the soldiers’ bodies returned to normal. Lahara sighed, shaking her fingers. Such a waste. As she stood up again, the elf woman stared.

“Andraste’s tits, you’re not that sodding…no, never mind.” The elf glanced to her wounded comrade. “Can you help this idiot for me?”

“I’ll try,” Lahara said. Her healing was no way near as accomplished as Bethany’s, but it would do in a pinch.

She jogged over to the injured elf, discovering another servant beside him who had not been so lucky. Thankfully there was no trace of red lyrium on either of them, so she set to work. The elf winced, the healing aura sealing up the cut. The elf woman cringed, taking a step back.

“Thank you,” the servant said, his face still sweaty. “I’m so sorry, Sera. I didn’t realise…”

“You can shut your mouth, yeah?” Sera’s brow twitched, still uneasy. “Made me come all this sodding way, and for what, Geraint? Darrien’s dead and I can’t get these creepy bastards’s glowy eyes out of my head!” She snatched his collar. “We’re Friends of Red Jenny, we do stuff to bring nobles down a few notches, not play their arse shitty Game! What the bloody hell were you thinking?!”

“Sera, I didn’t know, I swear!” Geraint pleaded. “I needed your help, I had no-one else to turn to!”

Sera growled. She raised her arm, fist clenched, when Lahara gripped her wrist.

“Hey, chill out a second,” she said. “He said he was sorry.”

“Sorry don’t bring back the dead, does it?!” Sera hissed, shaking off the Herald’s hand. “What it’s to you, anyway, mage-face? It’s none of your sodding…”

“This woman saved us, Sera,” Geraint said. “Don’t be so quick to judge.”

Sera’s eyes flared. For a long moment she glared at Geraint, her arm trembling. Then she let it drop, and she let out a flustered breath.

“Alright. Guess I should say thanks, yeah?” She shouldered her bow and stood up. “But keep your weird magey-crap away from me.”

“Whatever you say.” Lahara flexed her fingers.

“Do you know how these soldiers ended up like this?” Dorian asked. “Or who they’re working for?”

“Ugh, why do mages ask so many questions,” Sera snorted.

Dorian scowled, but Lahara held up her hand.

“Look, I get the feeling you don’t like us mages much,” she said, “but you have to admit you still owe us. Least you can do is fill us in.”

 Sera pursed her lips, still defiant.

“We’re wasting time, Inquisitor,” Dorian piped up. “It’s no use, we should…”

Sera’s eyes bulged.

“Wait, you’re the sodding _Inquisitor?!_ ” She gawked, looking Lahara up and down. “Then…shit, you really are…” She bit her lip. “No, can’t be. You’re just arseing around with me.”

“I am?” Lahara asked.

“You can’t be the high and mighty Inquisitor,” Sera said. “You helped us, you don’t mind getting your hands dirty, and you don’t talk all shitty either!” She shook her head. “But you’re like, all important, yeah? You should be all…up your own arse and that!”

“Sorry to disappoint?” Lahara shrugged. “I’ll try harder to belittle you next time.”

“Please, Inquisitor, can you help us?” Geraint touched Lahara’s knee. “I…I’m one of Briala’s agents. She told us Duke Gaspard had moved mercenaries into the palace, and wanted us to watch them. They went into the guest wing, but when they came out, something changed. Those crystals appeared, and now they strike at anything that gets their attention.”

“Sounds like we have a date with this guest wing,” Lahara stated. “How do we get there?”

Geraint reached into his pocket, withdrawing a key.

“This will unlock the lower entrance, over there,” he said, pointing. “It’s just beside the storeroom.”

“Thank you,” Lahara smiled. “We’ll check it out. Hope you get well soon.”

She stood, giving a brief stretch, when something tugged at her sash.

“I’m coming with,” Sera said.

Lahara raised a brow. “Sure you want to face more of those creepy glowy eyes?”

“Pfft, course I bloody don’t, but no choice, yeah?” Sera answered. “Can’t sit on my arse when I can put arrows in more of those things for Darrien’s sake.” She thumped Geraint’s shoulder. “You just get out of here, yeah.”

“Get the other servants to keep clear, too,” Lahara warned. “Red lyrium isn’t picky about who it infects.”

“I will.” Geraint rose to his feet, then picked up Darrien’s body. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

He retreated to the servants’ rooms, while Lahara twirled the key in her fingers.

“Well, isn’t this interesting,” she commented. “Gaspard’s had his men infiltrate the palace, got them afflicted with red lyrium, and Briala’s agents are suffering the consequences.” She shook her head. “Looks like we’re already too late.”

“I’m not so sure,” Dorian countered. “Much as Gaspard seems the direct type, a full-on assault against Celene is too risky. And if the Duke was so confident, he would not be up there waiting. I would wager he’s not aware of the red lyrium.”

“Maybe, but he’s definitely not innocent, either,” Lahara answered.

“We are wasting time standing and speculating,” Cassandra growled. “Whoever is behind this, we need to find the red lyrium’s source and destroy it, before it affects the rest of the palace.”

“What the hell are you lot on about?” Sera scoffed, retrieving her arrows from the fallen soldiers. “Just take me to things I can shoot already!”

“Won’t argue with that logic,” Lahara chuckled, clasping the key. “Alright, it’s time to go hunting.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we return to our scheduled programming via Team Elissa!
> 
> Incidentally, if you want to know how Elissa’s first meeting with Leliana went, check out Chapter 2 of Curse.

 

Elissa inched closer to the campfire, the warmth relieving the aches in her back and shoulders. Alistair sat beside her, cleaning his sword, while Bethany dozed quietly on her bedroll. The sun was low, sinking behind the Brecilian Forest, and Elissa let out a breath. The fresher clime was a welcome relief, but had done little to soothe her thoughts. Especially considering where they were headed. It had been hard going tracking the Children of Andraste, and now they were a day or two’s ride from their base; a village called Stonewar, which lay a few miles shy of Gwaren.

However, it was also not far from Ostagar, and that had brought back unpleasant memories. In fact, as Elissa glanced to the distant horizon, she could just pick out the fortress ruins. She bit back a shiver, recalling the bone-chilling terror of that night. The darkspawn had swarmed them, their futile beacon burning as they waited for help that never arrived. And then, the moment Elissa resigned herself, giant talons had smashed through, tearing her and Alistair into freedom.

Well, only freedom of a sort, as upon her recovery Elissa found herself shackled to an even greater burden…

“Everything alright, Elissa?” Alistair looked up from his handiwork, brow raised.

Elissa drew her hands to her lap.

“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just, this place…”

Alistair chuckled.

“Yeah, it’s like stepping back in time, isn’t it?” He put his sword aside, and gave a stretch. “Hard to believe it’s been almost twelve years since we were Ferelden’s last hope against the darkspawn.”

“It almost doesn’t feel real anymore,” Elissa murmured. Yet little had actually changed since their hasty departure. The countryside was still desolate, and where had once been vast farmland was nothing but tainted soil. Even Lothering remained ransacked and rotted, and it had broken Bethany’s heart when they had passed through. It had been her home, after all; the last place her family had been together, and where her late father continued to rest.

Elissa, too, had found herself pausing at the crumbled tavern. It was there she had first crossed paths with Leliana, and the recollection brought a flush to her cheeks. She’d had the gall to turn down the bard’s help, but Leliana had eventually won her around, and she was more than glad to have changed her mind.

She played with the chain around her neck, a smile gracing her lips. Back then, she’d had no idea how their stuttered friendship would blossom into so much more. Nor how hard their bond would come to be tested. Yet despite every near miss and careless word, they had found each other again, and Elissa promised herself she would never let go of something that had endured so much.

“Hey, isn’t that your family ring?” Alistair’s eyes fell to her necklace. “I didn’t realise you still had it.”

Elissa let the ring drop to her chest.

“Leliana held onto it for me,” she said. “I gave it to her just before we faced the Archdemon.”

Alistair whistled. “Wow.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Did you know it was going to end so badly then?”

“In all honesty, no,” Elissa answered. “I just remember feeling weird about it, so I handed it over.”

“Or maybe you weren’t entirely convinced about Morrigan’s ritual?”

Elissa shrugged. “Say what you will, Alistair, but I _did_ trust her on that. And it seems to have paid off. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here right now, in more ways than one.”

“I guess,” Alistair mumbled. “It still wasn’t right, though, for her to wipe your memories and not tell any of us.” He sighed. “She always played her cards close, just like her mother.”

“Too true,” Elissa said, rubbing her shoulder. She had kept an eye out for nightingales, but had yet to come across her feathered friend again. She hoped it would remain that way.

“I mean, I don’t even know if I have a son or daughter running around,” Alistair went on. “Whether they took after me, what kind of things they might like…” He let out a nervous laugh. “Pretty dumb I’m still wondering such nonsense, huh?”

“Not at all,” Elissa said. “You’re a good man, Alistair, and you’d make an even better father.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t had to put you through that.”

“It was still my choice in the end, Elissa,” Alistair countered. “And as you said, it paid off, although not quite in the way I expected.” He reached up and squeezed her shoulder. “Anyway, didn’t you tell me once that it’s good to remember the past, but we shouldn’t let it rule us?”

Elissa smiled sadly. “That sounds vaguely familiar.”

“Then you’d do well to take your own advice,” Alistair said. “We might be back where we started, but we’re not facing a Blight, nor trying to unite a fractured kingdom. Once was more than enough. So let’s keep moving forward.”

Elissa nodded. Before she could reply, however, Bethany let out an irked groan.

“Ugh, it’s not like you two to be so loud!” She rolled onto her back, drawing her blanket over her head. “And what’s this about you having a child, Alistair?”

“Ah, long story,” Alistair said. “I’m surprised Elissa hasn’t told you already.”

“It might have slipped my mind,” Elissa said dryly, “you know, what with helping the Inquisition, the Breach going out of control, escaping Haven and all that.”

“It wasn’t a criticism,” Alistair said, his eyes gleaming.

“Well, I’m happy for you, Warden-Commander,” Bethany muttered, “but can you gush about it in the morning? I’m trying to sleep!”

Elissa couldn’t hold back her laugh. The poor mage had been on watch one night too many, it seemed.

“Sorry, we’ll be quiet, Beth,” she said. As if on cue, a yawn of her own caught her, and she rubbed her eyes. Perhaps it would be a good idea to turn in herself.

She made for her bedroll, laying it beside the fire. Alistair tossed her a blanket, before resting back on his hands.

“Sweet dreams, Elissa,” he said. “Let’s hope tomorrow we can finally put this nonsense to rest.”

* * *

 

Stonewar was silent. Most of the houses had corroded to dust, and abandoned wagons littered the ways. The choking scent of mould hung thick, and almost every brick was snared with creepers. Something scuttled into the undergrowth, and Elissa shook her head. Nothing had escaped the devastation, and no attempt had been made to reclaim it, either.

“This is so sad,” Alistair said, picking up a broken spade.

“Just like Lothering.” Bethany’s fist clenched. “It’s not enough that the darkspawn destroy everything. They leave the Taint behind as well, so the land never heals.”

Alistair’s lip curled.

“If that bastard Loghain hadn’t abandoned us, we could’ve prevented such a spread.” He tossed the spade aside. “Ferelden went through two years of famine because of this, and Maker knows how many lost their lives trying to flee.” He let out a breath, regaining himself. “Anyway, it seems the ideal choice for a hideout. Nobody would want to venture here if they didn’t have to.”

Elissa nodded, scanning the ruins.

“We should split up,” she said. “Shout if you find anything.”

Alistair and Bethany turned away, heading east and west respectively, while Elissa continued north. The buildings seemed to have fared better this side, and she approached what must have been the tavern. The door was jammed, but a swift kick sent it splintering. At once the stench assaulted her, and Elissa gagged, forced to step away. She would have to come back later.

Before she could make for the adjacent houses, Bethany called out.

“Wait, over here!”

Elissa glanced back. The mage was standing before the remains of the Chantry. Abandoning her own search, Elissa jogged over. Alistair soon joined them, and they gazed at the scarred stone.

“Look.” Bethany pointed to the ground, which was plastered with fresh boot prints. “Someone’s been here recently.”

“We should take a look inside,” Elissa said.

With Alistair’s help, she forced open the oak doors. The hinges squealed, and Elissa coughed, showered in dust and twigs. Brushing the debris aside, she entered the hall. It hadn’t fared much better than the rest of the village. The air was stale, the pews covered in leaves, and puddles lined the floor. Thankfully more prints stood out against the tiles, leading to a room on the right.

Elissa strode over, trying the handle. It was locked.

“Wouldn’t want it to be too easy, would we?” Alistair said.

“I’ll handle this,” Bethany declared. “Stand back.”

Elissa and Alistair obliged, as Bethany drew her staff. A lance of fire appeared, and she flung it at the door. The flames tore through the wood, and in moments only a pile of ash remained.

“Eh, works for me,” Alistair shrugged.

Bethany smirked, and they stepped into the room. It was lined with tables and bookshelves, although few tomes had survived. A mahogany desk stood in the corner, hosting a burnt-out candelabra and a slightly sodden parchment.

Bethany snatched the paper, her brows knitted.

“This is a map to the temple in the Western Approach,” she said. “We’re definitely on the right track.”

“It’s been awfully quiet, though,” Elissa said. “I’m surprised they’ve not posted a guard.”

“For all we know they _have_ , and they could be watching us right now,” Alistair pointed out.

“Maybe, but I doubt they’d let us get this far,” Elissa countered. “Besides, you saw the prints. They were leading _into_ the Chantry, not out of it. Perhaps there’s a hidden entrance or something.”

She began to check the bookcases, testing anything that looked suspicious.

“Good thinking.” Alistair ran his hands over the walls, his tongue pressed against his cheek.

Bethany sighed, leaning against the desk. Her hip brushed the candelabra, but it didn’t fall over. Instead a soft clicked echoed. Then the desk shifted backwards, and Bethany yelped. She lost her balance and fell, landing on her rump.

“Ow!”

Elissa spun round.

“Beth!” She hurried to the mage’s side. “You okay?”

“I hate it when you’re right,” Bethany grumbled, rubbing her leg. She glared at the desk, which had moved into the wall, exposing a trapdoor. The mage tugged at the pull-ring, but it was sealed shut. She made to draw her staff again, but Elissa caught her wrist.

“Leave this to me.” She removed her dagger, wedging it between the hinges. A few twists later, the metal snapped, and she was able to pry the door free. She was met with a staircase that descended into blackness. The musty scent grew stronger, and she grimaced.

“Dark, dank and damp, just what I always wanted,” Alistair chimed. He gave a mock bow. “Ah, ladies first?”

Bethany rolled her eyes.

“So chivalrous.” She stumbled to her feet, then held out her palm, summoning a spark of Veilfire. She took the lead, and Elissa followed, dagger in hand. Her Shard began to tingle, and she swallowed. She hoped they would not find anything as horrifying as last time.

The stairs ended at a narrow passage. They had to edge sideways to fit, and Elissa clenched her teeth. The rocks brushed her chest, and her hands began to shake. She locked onto the glow of Veilfire, her heart like thunder in her ears. Not much longer, surely…

Finally, the passage opened into a chamber. Elissa all but flung herself free, steadying her breathing. Maker, she hated such tight spaces. She brushed the grit from her shoulders, as Bethany raised her staff. The Veilfire brightened, falling onto limestone bricks and pillars. Supply crates also lay scattered around, along with the carcasses of deer and rabbits.

“Looks like they’ve been making themselves comfortable,” Alistair said. “And is it me, or does this architecture look familiar?”

Elissa chewed her lip, her memory also stirred. Eventually she snapped her fingers.

“The Brecilian Forest ruins.” she said. “They were like this, too. This must be another elven shrine.”

“Convenient,” Bethany murmured.

Only a single exit led further inside, so they made straight for it. This corridor was much wider, littered with doorways extending in all directions. Even so, their path remained limited, as the branches either led to empty rooms or were blocked with rubble. Elissa sighed, rubbing her temple. Just how far did the ruins go?

The passage eventually ended at a crumbling archway. Another door stood beside it, sealed with iron bars, but Bethany ignored it. As she made for the arch, however, her Veilfire flickered. At the same moment, a sharp pain burst from Elissa’s Shard. Gasping, Elissa staggered into the wall, clutching her chest.

“Elissa!” Alistair grabbed her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Throat dry, Elissa could only shake her head. The rune flickered wildly, and sweat started to trickle down her neck. Bethany glanced to the barricaded door, and the Veilfire fizzled out. Her eyes widened.

“There’s something very powerful in there,” she said.

She made to examine further, when the bars suddenly retracted. Swearing, Alistair grabbed the pair, dragging them into the opposite room. They ducked behind the barrels and chests, and not a second later the door swung open. A blast of cool air escaped, and a woman in maroon robes stepped out. Her blonde hair was streaked with silver, and she carried a staff of elm and steel.

As she moved aside, two men came through behind her. But it was their prisoner that made Elissa stare. The boy could not have been more than ten or eleven years, and he quivered silently. His hazel eyes were piercing, and Elissa couldn’t help but feel a little unsettled. Strange shackles surrounded his wrists, and they burned with lyrium markings.

“The enchantment is done,” the woman said. “Take him to the holding room, then join me in the sanctum. We do not have much time to complete the rest of our preparations.”

“At once, Lady Megara.”

The guards hauled the boy away, and Megara sighed. She spun on her heel, returning to the sealed room. Elissa managed to peek between the chests, spying what looked like a giant mirror inside. Its surface shimmered, almost hypnotising, and Megara placed her hand upon it.

Immediately the light stream stilled, returned to glass. Megara’s reflection stared back, revealing her amber eyes. Then she began muttering in ancient Elven. Elissa bit back a hiss, the swirl of mana bringing bile to her throat. Her Shard screamed, and she snatched at her chest as ward after ward formed around the mirror. It quickly became too much, and Elissa buried her head in her forearms, her breaths coming in choked rasps.

_Maker…please, no more…just…_

At last the door groaned shut, and Megara’s footfalls echoed through the archway. The burning lessened, and Elissa sank to her knees, trembling. Bethany wrapped an arm around her shoulders, her jaw tense.

“Maker, you don’t look well,” she said. “We have to get away from that door.”

Nodding, Elissa struggled to stand. Her muscles had turned to jelly, and it was all she could do to remain on her feet. Alistair went ahead, waiting for Megara to gain some distance, before beckoning them to follow. Elissa winced through her teeth, fighting the pain that coursed through every limb.

_But why?_

Gradually, as the room fell behind, her strength started to return. Still, Bethany kept an arm around her as Alistair broke into a barren room. He closed the door, and Elissa withdrew from the mage, resting against the wall. The rune on her chest had turned numb, and she pressed her fingers against it.

“Well, wasn’t that something,” Alistair murmured. “Are you alright?”

“I am now,” Elissa said, wiping her forehead. Maker, that had been rough.

“Any idea what happened?”

Elissa shook her head.

“Your Shard hasn’t reacted like that since the Breach went out of control,” Bethany mused, rubbing her chin. “But there was enough magic back there to power an _Eluvian_ , so maybe that’s not surprising.”

“A what?” Alistair raised a brow.

“An _Eluvian_ ,” Bethany repeated, more slowly. “Merrill spent a lot of time trying to fix hers back in Kirkwall. It was how the ancient elves used to travel all around Thedas, or so she told me.”

Alistair’s eyes widened.

“So these creeps have a mirror that can take them anywhere they please?” He slammed his fist into his palm. “And now they’re using it to take children hostage as well!”

“The poor boy must be terrified,” Bethany said.

“Assuming it _is_ a boy,” Elissa pointed out.

Bethany arched a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Elissa hesitated. “Didn’t you feel there was something, I don’t know, a little strange about him?”

“He’s not an abomination,” Bethany answered. “He’s not even a mage, from what I sensed. I imagine he’s just in shock.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s the real deal, too,” Alistair added. “You know these idiots aren’t shy to play with innocent lives.” He clenched his fist. “We have to free him. We can’t let him meet the same fate as those women, or worse.”

Elissa sighed. The boy’s piercing stare flashed across her mind, and she rubbed the back of her neck. Part of her chided that she was being foolish, yet as much as she trusted Alistair and Bethany, her misgivings would not fall away. Perhaps it was because the boy reminded her too much of her long-deceased nephew.

“Alright.” She stood tall, pushing her reluctance aside. “Let’s see if we can pick up the guards’ trail.”

* * *

 

The holding room proved trickier to find than Elissa thought. The two guards had long since vanished, and more apostates had emerged, giving them fewer places to hide. The latter however were all heading towards the sanctum, and Elissa bit her lip. It seemed whatever Megara was brewing was coming to fruition, and if they weren’t careful, they would be caught in the middle of it.

She darted into a side chamber, Alistair and Bethany in tow. A stagnant pool was set into the floor, and behind it a curled a chipped staircase. Ivy and gnarled roots had broken through the ceiling, trapping the pillars in a twisted embrace, and a hint of a breeze also drifted down. They must have been close to the surface.

“This place is too big,” Bethany whined, running her hands through her hair. “Would’ve been nice if they left a map of _these_ ruins in the Chantry!”

“No wonder they don’t post more guards,” Alistair grumbled. “Far easier to just let intruders get lost, then pick them off.”

“Right.” Elissa let out a breath, folding her arms. They had been trawling the passages for ages; there had to be a better way to do this.

She turned to the stairs, intending to explore the upper floor, when voices echoed from above. She blinked, exchanging a glance with Alistair and Bethany, before they scattered to the shadows. Elissa tucked herself behind a pillar, crouching slightly. A brief silence descended, until heavy steps crunched down.

“Do you think it will be enough?”

Elissa froze, recognising the voice. It was one of the guards who had escorted the boy.

“You saw our Lady’s enchantment,” his companion answered. “We have nothing to fear. We will return for him when we need to.”

“I still can’t believe we managed to catch him,” the other guard said. “We were lucky to restore the _Eluvian_ , otherwise we would never have escaped.” He hesitated. “But can _he_ really be the True One?”

“Lady Megara is not one for mistakes,” his ally replied. “I have faith, as I have always done, and as you should, too.” He licked his lips. “Now we need only await the final piece, and we will witness the true Mother’s awakening.”

They disappeared into the main passage, and Elissa let out the breath she had been holding. That had been too close. She returned to the open, reuniting with her friends.

“Did you hear that?” Alistair’s eyes flicked towards the stairs. “He must be up there.”

Elissa nodded. She led the way up the steps, weaving through the debris towards another corridor. As she neared, however, her Shard stirred again. She hesitated, and Bethany raised a brow. Swiftly Elissa swallowed the impulse and resumed walking. So long as it didn’t drain her like before, she could ignore it.

After a short trek down the rubble-strewn passage, they came to the holding room. Elissa crept behind some fallen rafters, studying the area. The room itself was little more than a barred alcove, and it was guarded by a lone apostate. She paced the floor, occasionally glancing to the boy inside. He was curled on a stool, his back against the wall, and tear trails glimmered on his cheeks. Elissa’s gaze softened, instantly regretting her earlier judgement. He _was_ just a frightened child, after all.

She silently drew her dagger, signalling to the others. Then, when the apostate turned her back, she sprang. The woman had no time to even cry out as Elissa sliced her throat. She fell limp, and Elissa dragged her to a dark corner. A quick search revealed a silver key, and she waved to Alistair and Bethany. The two emerged from their hiding place, and they regrouped by the bars.

“Hey,” Bethany called gently, and the boy raised his head. At once his face paled, and he tried to make himself as small as possible.

“W-What do you want now?” His voice trembled.

“It’s alright, we’re not with these other mages.” Alistair knelt down, offering a kind smile. “Did they hurt you?”

The boy seemed to relax a little, but kept his arms around himself.

“No, I’m…I’m not hurt.” He glanced between them, curious. “But if you’re not with them, who are you?”

“You can call me Alistair,” Alistair answered. “These are my friends, Elissa and Bethany. We’ll get you out of here.” He rested his hands on his thighs. “Can you tell me your name?”

The boy averted his gaze.

“Mother…Mother told me not to speak my name to people I don’t know.”

“Your mother was wise to teach you that,” Bethany said. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. But you can trust us, I promise.”

Elissa slotted the key into the lock, and the bars swung open. The boy hesitated, before he reluctantly slipped out. He wiped his cheeks, and the lyrium on his shackles glowed faintly.

“What kind of enchantment is that, Bethany?” Alistair asked.

Bethany pursed her lips, examining the markings.

“I’m not entirely sure,” she admitted. “It looks like a translocation spell, but it’s been modified.”

“Think you can break it?” Elissa asked.

“I don’t know,” Bethany answered. “I’d need some time to…”

The mage was cut off by a shout, and the group spun around. Another apostate had appeared from the pool chamber. She gawked at them, before yelling for her comrades.

“Damn it, we have to move, now!” Alistair grabbed the boy’s arm. “Run as fast as you can!”

“Wait!” the boy protested. “I can’t…”

His warning came too late; Alistair took several steps forward, and the boy screamed. He dropped to his knees, the lyrium shackles ablaze.

“Alistair, let go of him!” Bethany pushed past, taking the boy back to the alcove. When they came to the bars again, the markings calmed. The boy whimpered, clutching his arms to his chest.

“Maker’s breath, I’m so sorry!” Alistair’s face burned.

The boy managed a nod, his brow soaked. “I can’t…I can’t leave. The other men had a keystone, it…”

“Stop!” shrieked a voice from the other end of the passage. “Get away from the True One!”

Elissa swore. “We have to get out of here!”

Alistair bristled. “But the boy…”

“We’ll come back,” Elissa insisted. “Just…”

A spear of ice cracked above her head, and Elissa flinched, showered in freezing fragments. Bethany growled, throwing up a barrier, before they pelted down the corridor. The apostates snarled, hurrying to dispel it, but it didn’t stop them throwing more icicles and lightning. Elissa bit her lip, dodging the flurry of elements. She hated abandoning the boy, but they could do nothing until the spell on his chains was broken. It seemed Megara had planned for every eventuality.

_Just who in the Maker’s name was she, anyway?_

They twisted into another passage, but their pursuers were gaining ground. Another fireball smacked the wall, and Elissa yelped, the grit burning her face. Bethany tried to aim strikes of her own, but it was almost impossible with all the tree roots encroaching their path.

An icicle found its mark, and Elissa cried out, tripping over. She hit the ground, and warmth trickled from her cheek. Alistair cursed, raising his shield as a barrage of flame soared straight for her. Elissa scrambled back to her feet, but Alistair stood his ground.

“We can’t outrun them.” He drew his sword. “You two keep going. I’ll buy you some time!”

“No way!” Elissa snatched his arm. “They’ll tear you apart!”

“Better that than let either of you become their next plaything!” Alistair shook off her hand. “I’ve got this, trust me!”

“Wait, I’ve got a better idea!” Bethany broke in. “Get behind me, both of you!”

Before Elissa could protest, the mage stepped forward. Fire and ice streamed towards her, but she summoned another barrier, and they bounced off like hailstones. Her eyes narrowed, and she raised her staff. The air shuddered, and Elissa’s Shard prickled. Even the apostates hesitated, holding back their next wave of attack.

Bethany grunted, pouring all her focus into the spell. The charge continued to build, setting Elissa’s hair on end. The ceiling began to tremble, and then the mage slammed her staff into the floor.

A ferocious tremor ripped through, as if an army of giants were marching above. The roof groaned, and the apostates cried out. They tried to fall back, but were too slow. A deafening roar flooded the passage, and a torrent of stone and silt spilled into the ruins.

Bethany held firm, her brow glistening as she recast her barrier. Elissa and Alistair sheltered close, protected from the raining debris. The quake however did not let up, and the ground started to buckle. The tiles beneath crumpled, and Elissa gasped, losing her footing. Alistair reached for her, but it was too late.

The floor collapsed, dragging them into ravaging emptiness. Yet Elissa didn’t even have time to scream, as all too soon she smacked into solid stone. The wind was knocked from her lungs, and a coppery taste filled her mouth. She’d bitten her tongue. Spluttering, she spat out blood, but before she could take her next breath, white-hot agony pierced her Shard. It spread like wildfire, stealing what little air she had left, and she clamped her hands around her chest.

_No!_

“Elissa!” Bethany took her arm, and Elissa winced, fighting to open her eyes. Almost at once she snapped them shut again; it was suddenly much too bright. Her heart was shrieking, driven insane from the burning rune, and the shaking wouldn’t stop.

Steps thumped in front of her, followed by a heavy thud.

“The door won’t budge!” Alistair fought to keep the panic from his voice. “We have to get out! Elissa can’t…”

Bethany growled.

“Then I’ll just break the wards myself!”

The mage’s hold left her, and Elissa gritted her teeth. Slowly, she managed to force herself to her hands and knees. Sweat plastered her hair, and she was finally able to look up. Her dishevelled reflection stared back, distorted by the shimmering wards. Her jaw hung slack.

They’d fallen _here?!_

Bethany thrust her hands forward, her fingertips glowing. Her gaze was fixed on the barriers, and a rumble escaped her as she fought to undo them. The addition of yet more magic deepened Elissa’s nausea, and she sank to the ground again. Alistair held her shoulder, but she barely registered his touch. Her Shard was a serrated dagger in her flesh, raw and hot and bleeding, and she wanted to tear it out with her own hands.

_Maker, make it stop!_

She wretched out another mouthful of blood, her vision clouding. Yet before the chamber fell to darkness, Bethany groaned. Her hands fell, and she dropped like a stone. Alistair bolted, managing to catch her, just as the wards shattered.

The effect was like a gate slamming down. Raging heat turned to soothing coolness, and Elissa curled her head into her knees, shivering. Her skin was clammy, her clothes soaked, and every breath was like a blade in her throat. Still her thoughts flew to Bethany, and she clenched her jaw. The mage had done too much. She shouldn’t have…

Suddenly another pulse ran through her Shard, and the _Eluvian_ glistened. Without warning it burst into life, and Elissa screamed, the pain flooding back. Teal and pink and violet and crimson spilled across the glass, mirroring the tempest of knives inside her chest.

_I…can’t…breathe!_

A shadow flashed against the vivid hues, and a slender hand broke free of the mirror. An arm and shoulder followed, and finally a cloaked woman stepped into the chamber. The _Eluvian_ quieted, and Elissa crumpled. She couldn’t move.

The newcomer stormed forward, her hood flopping open. Alistair caught his breath, but the woman ignored him. She brandished her staff, poising it directly at Elissa. Her amber eyes flared, her raven hair damp with rain.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Morrigan hissed. “And what have you done with my _son?!_ ”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Team Hawke reporting for duty…
> 
> Apologies for the lack of updates, I’m just not ‘feeling’ this story as much as I did Catastrophe, so it’s proving that bit harder to write. Thanks for your patience!

 

A shiver ran through Hawke as she marched through the lower Deep Roads. The torch in her hand flickered, and she sighed, glancing between the pillars and archways. They had been met with quite the frosty reception in Orzammar, and it wouldn’t stop playing on her mind. Experience taught her that dwarves—bar present company, of course—weren’t a particularly friendly bunch, yet this seemed extreme, even for them. The mere mention of Corruption had earned her dark looks, and nobody had been willing to offer information; not even Varric’s contacts, who seemed to have vanished into the Void.

In fact, had Anders not mentioned his Grey Warden status, they’d almost been barred from entering the Deep Roads at all. The dwarves were definitely keeping something under wraps, and Hawke was sure they were being followed, too. Perhaps coming via the thaig had not been as good an idea as she’d thought.

“It’s far too quiet,” Fenris muttered. His eyes darted around the shadows, and he kept clenching and unclenching his fist.

“Got that right, Broody.” Varric held Bianca close, a bolt primed. “We’re not far from the darkspawn reaches, and we haven’t seen a single one.”

“Maybe they’ve gone for a holiday?” Merrill supplied.

“More like Corruption’s been sapping their numbers,” Anders said. “It affects them the same as anyone else, probably more since it’s right on top of them.” His eyes flicked to his map. “In fact, the centre of the reaches is where the thickest concentration should lie.”

“Great, I can’t wait,” Varric chimed.

“Hey, I’d take a blanket of Corruption over an army of dust monsters,” Hawke countered. “If those things can take over demons, Maker knows what they’d turn a darkspawn into.”

“They can possess _demons?_ ” Anders blinked. _“_ Since when?”

“Since Corypheus added a few pinches of red lyrium to the mix,” Hawke said. “Luckily, I’ve found out how to destroy them, so it’s not all bad.” Her jaw tensed, and a tingle ran through the rune on her forehead. “As many as that bastard makes, I’ll tear them down just as fast.”

“Lucky, indeed.” Anders brushed his fingers over his cloak pocket, where the Tevene book lay. “It’s even more fortunate you found Andraste’s relic in the first place. Without that, we wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Yeah, that was pretty impressive, even for me,” Hawke admitted. “Although given what I’ve learned since, I don’t think coming across it was as coincidental as it looked.”

“Oh?” Varric raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

Hawke sighed. “I never really thought about it before, but I’m almost certain it was Zevran who tipped us off.”

Varric’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“We were approached by a ‘Warden’ after we dealt with the Corruption beneath Ansburg,” Fenris said. “He offered us a map that he claimed would lead to its source. Stroud seemed to trust him, so we took him at his word and thought nothing of it.”

“I never got a clear look at his face,” Hawke continued, “but his accent was definitely Antivan. And if Tevinter’s Chantry couldn’t find that relic with all their resources, I doubt anyone would’ve just stumbled onto it. This guy knew exactly what he was doing.”

“But how would he have known its significance?” Anders asked. “As far as I’ve heard, Zevran travelled with the Hero of Ferelden, but he was only an assassin.”

“Elissa tells me he’s something more now,” Hawke replied. “And from what he almost did to Lara, we don’t want to cross paths if we can help it.”

“You also realise Crow-Face gave the same lead to Sunshine and Grim?” Varric said.

“Yup, and that makes me wonder.” Hawke chewed her lip. “Zevran _wanted_ me there with Elissa, and I’ll bet he was banking on Beth dragging Lara into it, too.”

“Why though?” Anders pressed. “What made the three of you so important?”

“If I knew, we’d not be discussing it,” Hawke said. “Apparently, Elissa needed the relic to regain her memories, and that’s the key to everything. But so far nothing else has come of it.”

“That’s why Sunshine and Grim are on their own adventure, trying to find out,” Varric added. “They sure have their work cut out for them.”

“And so do we.” Hawke tightened her grip around her torch. “Come on, that Corruption isn’t going to dispel itself.”

She strode faster, the halls stretching into empty silence. Yet despite her resolve, the pang in her chest had already taken hold, and she let out a breath. It never did take much for her to start thinking about Bethany, and the conversation had only stirred things further.

She swallowed, the ache between her ribs deepening. It was pathetic—they’d been through almost eight years of exile anyway—but no amount of time would make their ongoing separation any easier. Much as Hawke pretended otherwise, being apart from her sister had taken a huge toll, and she fervently prayed this would be the last time.

The passages began to broaden, and eventually they arrived at a chamber. Barricaded doors spanned the far end, and they were heralded by crumbling bridges. Hawke bit her lip, recognising the scratch marks and blood splatters. They’d come to the gates of the reaches. Yet the air was stale and silent, and nothing moved amid the lifeless stone.

“This can’t be right.” Anders stepped to the bridge edge, peering into the abyss. “It should be filled with darkspawn!”

“See, I told you they’d gone on holiday,” Merrill insisted. “There’s not a drop of Corruption here, either.” She held out her hand, and a spark of Veilfire appeared. “See?”

“That’s a point,” Hawke murmured. “Though nothing to say both aren’t deeper inside.”

“I’m a little concerned we haven’t found _anyone_ ,” Varric commented, shuffling on his feet. “There’s usually a Legion patrol prowling, and I didn’t see any of them hanging around in Orzammar.”

“They might be pressing the advantage Corruption has given,” Fenris said. “I would surmise they too lie further within the ruins.”

“Well, standing around talking won’t tell us much,” Anders said. “We should check it out.”

Nodding, Hawke took the lead once more. The bridge groaned under her feet, sending a cascade of stones to the pit below. Varric made short work of the locks, and soon they were weaving between fallen pillars and half-gnawed corpses. Hawke gagged, the stench overpowering, and she fanned her nose with her hand. Some things she would never get used to.

“Ugh, couldn’t Corruption find someplace nicer to hide?” Varric groaned, brushing grit from his sleeves. “Like in the middle of the countryside, where it doesn’t smell like a Deep Stalker brought back every meal it’s had for the last week…”

“You’d still find something to moan about,” Fenris pointed out.

“Oh admit it, Broody, you’ve missed my whining,” Varric answered, lightly punching the elf’s shoulder. Fenris’s lips twitched, forming a faint smile.

“Remember, it was either this or waltzing it up in Halamshiral,” Hawke reminded him.

“True, but that doesn’t…”

A sudden shriek cut the dwarf off. The party froze, and Hawke snatched a breath. The sound was faint, but unmistakably coming from ahead.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Anders muttered.

“Tell me about it.” Hawke drew her dagger. “Watch yourselves.”

She walked briskly, scanning the darkness. However, not ten paces down, she finally _felt_ it _._ A heaviness around her chest, forcing her to take deeper breaths. Her Shard shimmered, and at the same moment, Merrill’s Veilfire spluttered out.

“Maker’s breath, it’s _everywhere_.” Fenris snatched out his broadsword. “I have never sensed so much Corruption in one location before.”

“Yes, there’s an awful lot,” Merrill said, her nose twitching. “I wonder why we couldn’t feel it earlier?”

“Something tells me we both want and don’t want to find out,” Varric said. “Least it means your map isn’t too shabby, Blondie.”

Another scream echoed, much closer, and Hawke gritted her teeth. The pressure around her ribs strengthened, and she winced, her Shard pulsing.

“Amber?” Fenris took her shoulder, but she shook it off.

“I’m good, really,” she said. “We have to see what’s happening!”

She broke into a jog, jumping over the rubble, and finally emerged above a ruined amphitheatre. Tall stone curved around chipped steps, and the inside swarmed with darkspawn. They howled and snapped, many sporting injuries or missing limbs, but that didn’t stop them clawing for the two dwarves in the centre. The latter were only armed with a pickaxe and shovel, and one held her side, stemming a bleeding wound.

“We’d better give them a hand!” Hawke tossed her torch to Merrill. “Fenris, go!”

She bolted down the worn steps, pulling her second dagger free, and it sank into the first darkspawn’s neck. It gurgled, crumpling, and she charged straight into the next one. Soon she found her rhythm, and the creatures swiftly fell beneath her merciless strikes. Fenris came at her heels, carving his own path through the hoard, and Varric hailed bolts from above. It was enough for the dwarves to renew their assault, and quickly the darkspawn found themselves outmatched.

At last, it was over. Fenris kicked aside a fallen genlock, and Hawke shook the blood from her daggers.

“Ah, that’s more like it.” She sheathed her weapons, turning to the dwarves. “Are you two alright?”

“We are, thanks to you,” the first said, dropping his blood-soaked pickaxe. “Praise the Stone!”

“Mind telling us what happened?” Varric asked; he, Merrill and Anders had descended to join them. “It’s not like miners to pick brawls with darkspawn.”

“It was the Legion who threw us here!” the other dwarf spat, sitting on a lower step. Merrill knelt beside her, tending her wound. “Bastards have been throwing their weight around, and the King won’t do a thing about it!”

“The Legion of the Dead?” Anders blinked. “That’s odd. I’ve fought alongside them before, they seemed very honourable.”

“They were, ‘til someone started putting ideas in their thick skulls!” The female dwarf shook her head. “Since they found out about _Stone-darkness_ , they’ve been obsessed. They’ve no clue what they’re messing with!”

“ _Stone-darkness_?” Hawke repeated. “You must be talking about Corruption.”

“Not sure what you surfacers call it, but sure,” the male dwarf said. “We’ve known about it for a long time, but recently it’s been spreading, pushing the darkspawn into the lyrium mines. That’s why we asked the Legion for help.” He let out a breath. “Although it seems that’s backfired quite spectacularly.”

“This is insane.” Anders kicked the ground. “The Legion are fools if they think they can control it…”

“That’s exactly what Commander Volstock believes,” the male dwarf went on. “He’s been forcing us to work on ways to contain the blasted stuff.” He ran his fingers through his beard. “My sister Nalda here came to bust me and a few others out. But the Legion cut through, and left the darkspawn to finish the job.”

“This Commander sounds charming,” Hawke chimed. “Thoughts, Varric?”

“First I’ve heard of this,” Varric admitted. “The merchants’ guild hasn’t voiced any concerns about lyrium supplies, either.”

“That’s ‘cause the Legion’s got the carta involved, too,” Nalda hissed. “Anyone who dares speak against Volstock ‘disappears’. When I heard nothing from Rennar for so long, I had to fight to find out what was going on.”

“Well this is just _shit_ ,” Varric grumbled. “But I have to agree with Blondie, it’s not like the Legion to act like this. The nobles, sure, but not them. They’re not that power-hungry.”

“So maybe someone’s pulling strings we can’t see,” Hawke said, resting her hand on her hip. “Looks like it was worth swinging by this way.”

“Just who are you guys, anyway?” Nalda asked. “Wardens, or something?”

“Sadly not,” Hawke said. “Just friends passing through.”

“Then you need to get clear, now,” Nalda said. “If the Legion doesn’t get you, the Taint will.”

“I appreciate the concern, but don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” Hawke answered. She gave a brief stretch. “My name’s Hawke, by the way.”

“Hawke, huh? I’ll remember that,” Rennar said, rubbing his chin. “Well, thanks again. We owe you.”

“No problem,” Hawke said. “But what you’ve said about the Legion concerns me. We need to look into this.”

“Agreed, and I’d be happy to tell you what I can.” Rennar pointed to the upper path. “If you take that west tunnel, you’ll find one of the ‘containment cages’ Volstock’s been making us build. The Legion don’t patrol that side ‘til later, so you should be alright.”

“What’s a containment cage?” Varric asked.

“It’s easier if you see it for yourself,” Rennar answered. “I don’t know if you can do anything about them, but we’ve no allies anywhere else, and we’re not in much condition to help. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, we’ll see what we can do,” Hawke said. “Can you make it back to Orzammar?”

“We should be fine, thanks to your elf friend,” Nalda said, bowing at Merrill. “Stone protect you.”

Rennar took his sister’s arm across his shoulder, and they slowly limped out of the amphitheatre. Hawke sighed. She turned, taking the steps in the opposite direction. Once back on the path, she continued west. As the miner had said, another passage stood there, reinforced with stone supports.

“Looks new,” Varric commented. “I hope we don’t regret this.”

“Think positive, Varric,” Hawke said.

She strode inside, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. The tunnel twisted and turned, following an upward slope, and the vice-like tightness grew with every step. Hawke took a breath, and her Shard flickered, painful. Scowling, she pressed a palm to her forehead.

_Maker, what’s gotten into this thing?_

“Amber, are you certain you’re alright?” Fenris hovered by her side, his brow creased.

“Couldn’t be better,” Hawke replied, letting her arm drop.

“Don’t lie,” Fenris rumbled. “Your Shard is behaving strangely. Perhaps you should not…”

“I can handle it, Fenris,” Hawke growled. “We’ve got better things to focus on.”

She picked up her pace, severing the conversation. The rune continued to burn, and she bit her lip.

_It’s just a headache, get over it._

Gradually, the shadows began to lift. The light grew stronger, almost blinding, and Hawke had to squint. Her head was pounding, and it was all she could do to keep her concentration. Swallowing, she pushed herself the last of the way, into brilliance. Merrill and Anders gasped, and Hawke forced her eyes open. Yet nothing could have prepared her for the sight, and her jaw hung slack.

Giant lyrium veins filled the new chamber, stretching in all directions. They formed eight ‘arches’, which joined the ceiling like an enormous chandelier. Several walkways criss-crossed between them, not a single stone escaping the blueish glow.

And right below lay the biggest sea of Corruption Hawke had ever seen.

“Andraste’s grace…” Her Shard throbbed, and she hissed. So much lyrium; no wonder she felt so terrible.

“Look.” Merrill pointed to the undulating mist. “It’s not corroding the stone!”

“Impossible…” Anders held out his hand, concentrating, but no spell came to being. “Yet it’s still blocking our magic. How can that be?”

“The amount of lyrium in these walls…” Fenris shook his head. “This could not have formed naturally.”

“Yeah, it’s been filtered from the main reservoir, looks like,” Varric said. “It seems to be holding back the Corruption, though.”

“For now,” Hawke scoffed. “One brick out of place, and it’ll be unleashed in an unstoppable flood.” She snapped her fingers. “That must be what Volstock’s planning. Gather as much Corruption as he can in one place, then pull the cord. The darkspawn won’t stand a chance, and neither will Orzammar.”

“Forget Orzammar,” Varric scoffed. “If this spills into the Deep Roads, it’ll have a direct ticket to the surface, too. Then we’ll _really_ be in the shit.”

Anders punched his fist into his palm.

“He truly is an _idiot_!” he spat. “He’s that desperate to destroy the darkspawn that he’d doom all of Thedas? Even the Wardens would never go this far!”

“Well, too bad for him.” Hawke ground her teeth, her rune coming to life. “I’m just going to have to rain on his parade.”

“You have a plan?” Fenris asked.

“Same as usual,” Hawke replied. “I’ll make it up as I go along.”

She made for the nearest walkway, trying not to stare at the abyss below. It had been awhile since she’d come this close to raw Corruption, and even without her headache, it sent chills down her spine. And one careless step would be the end of everything.

Merrill followed, and they halted at the first arch. The stone was overflowing with lyrium, and the pressure in Hawke’s forehead flew to bursting. She grimaced, holding a hand to the shivering rune.

“The lyrium’s hurting you, isn’t it?” Merrill said.

“Hardly,” Hawke murmured, the pulsations starting to make her dizzy. Maker, this was getting ridiculous.

“All the Shards react the same,” Merrill countered. “But yours never used to…”

“So?” Hawke challenged. “I’ll deal with it.”

She tensed her jaw, Elissa’s words of warning creeping through her mind. Her Shard was definitely playing up—perhaps dangerously so—yet she couldn’t turn back now. It was her only weapon, and consequences be damned until she’d completed what she’d set out to do.

Except that was precisely the problem. Here she was, face to face with the threat she’d spent so long fighting, yet for every encounter, she’d barely taken any steps forward. They were still no closer to truly understanding Corruption, and that wasn’t all. She’d failed to stop the Red Templars, she’d let Corypheus discover the dust monsters, and Lahara and the Inquisition had nearly paid the price for it. Shard or not, she might as well have spat in the wind, for all the good she’d managed.

Bitterness rose, and Hawke clenched her fist. It wasn’t _fair_. So she could do a little party trick with people’s thoughts; Lahara could bend the elements to her will, while Elissa could tear dust monsters apart with her bare hands. Both of _them_ had proven worthy of their powers, while Hawke had been left in the dust.

_Maker, why am I so useless?!_

Snarling, Hawke lashed out. Her fist smashed into the lyrium arch, shattering the stone. A pulse of heat burst free, and her Shard flared. Hawke froze, her hand consumed with light. The cracks widened, bleeding lyrium into the pit below, and Merrill caught her breath.

“Amber, look!”

Hawke blinked, following the trail of sparkling droplets. It touched the Corruption, hissing, and the mist rippled. The wave shot downwards, for a split-second sundering the darkness. Hawke caught a glimpse of the floor, before the mist fell back on itself again. Her eyes widened.

“Maker’s breath, did you just do what I think you did?” Anders scrambled, kneeling on the walkway edge. “You combined lyrium with Corruption and got them to disappear!”

“I did?” Hawke pulled her hand free, her fingers coated in the glowing liquid. It was warm, tingly against her skin, and her Shard quivered.

“Try it again!” Merrill encouraged. “But not from the vein, we’ll use a smaller potion.”

“Sure,” Hawke said, fighting to keep excitement from her voice. No, it could have just been luck. She had to calm down.

Merrill fished in her pouch, pulling a bottle free. Hawke cupped her hands, and Merrill poured the contents between her palms. Again her Shard blazed, and she clenched her teeth, a shudder racing through her temples.

Suddenly the lyrium flashed white-hot. Hawke yelped, and she flung it into the ocean of Corruption, her palms burning.

The effect was instant. The lyrium sank like a stone, eating away the mist in its path. Once more a glimmer of floor appeared, until the darkness rolled to plug the gap.

“It works, it works!” Merrill danced on her tip-toes.

Hawke broke into a grin, but her triumph was short-lived. Searing pain slammed into her skull, and she dropped to her knees, a silent scream trapped in her throat. Then saliva flooded her mouth and she violently retched, coughing out dark bile. Her palms were on fire, peeling and raw, and she could barely breathe.

“Amber!” Merrill was at her side in an instant. Hawke barely acknowledged her, trembling. Another heave gripped her, and she spat out vile acid. Her vision swam, and it took all her willpower not to let the blackness take over.

“Amber, can you hear me?” Anders’s voice, and another hand rested on her back.

Hawke managed a weak nod, the back of her neck clammy. She dug her fingers into her scalp, the rune throbbing like a venomous arrow-head. She had never known pain like this.

“Here, drink this.” Something cool was pressed to her lips, but before Hawke could take a sip, heavy steps stormed. The vial was pulled back, and Anders cried out.

“You will not touch her!” Fenris barked.

“I’m trying to help!” Anders shot back. “I can’t heal her with magic here!”

“And you’d give her a potion infused with yet more lyrium?” Fenris shoved Anders back. “Can’t you see it’s done enough damage? I will not have you poison her further!”

“Fenris…” Merrill began.

“You have no right to open you mouth, either!” Fenris snapped. “You _saw_ the Shard was making Amber sick, yet you still pushed her…”

“Fenris!” Hawke’s voice was hoarse, but sharp. “Shut…up!”

Groggy, she pushed Merrill aside, stumbling to her feet. Fenris tried to offer a hand, but she ignored him. Her head was spinning, and she gripped the lyrium pillar, desperate not to lose her balance. Catching her breath, she wiped her soiled mouth, reaching for her flask. Maker, was this what Elissa had felt when the Breach lost control…

Fenris glared, his eyes betraying his pain.

“You will not try that again,” he ordered.

Hawke began to chuckle.

“C’mon…” She took a sip of water, the icy coolness soothing her burnt throat. “I’ve had worse hangovers after a night at the Hanged Man.”

“Hawke, this isn’t funny.” Varric strode onto the walkway, his jaw tense. “Even I can see this isn’t a good idea. You can’t afford to mess around, not this time!”

“I’m not messing around!” Hawke snapped. Rage was enough to dull the pain, and she glowered. “You guys need to stop it, I know what I’m doing…”

“ _No you damn well don’t_!” Fenris grabbed her shoulders. “That tiny vial removed barely a drop of Corruption, and it’s left you like this!” He gestured to her blistered hands. “If you use all the lyrium in this room the same way, it’ll tear you apart!”

Hawke’s eyes flared.

“I’m not asking _permission_!” She broke free, elbowing Fenris in the chest. Fenris snarled, and snatched her wrist. Hawke seethed, reaching for her dagger.

“Hey, hey, no need for that!” Varric pulled the two apart, keeping between them. “Listen Hawke, you need to cool it. Broody’s got a point. We’re playing with fire, and you’re the one who’s gonna get burned. We shouldn’t rush into this without at least thinking about it…”

“I’m _done_ thinking things over, Varric!” Hawke couldn’t control herself. She threw her dagger to the ground, the inferno of pent-up frustration finally consuming her. “I’m tired of all the dead-ends and wasted effort and _getting absolutely no-where_!” She clenched her fists. “This is it, and you know it. I’ve _finally_ found a way to destroy Corruption, and you’re not going to stop me, even if I need every drop of lyrium in Thedas to do it!”

“Amber, do you hear what you’re even saying?!” Anders spluttered. “You’re not a mage, your body can’t tolerate that much exposure. And it wouldn’t just be Corruption you’d destroy; you’d erase the same amount of lyrium as well!”

Hawke let out a mirthless laugh. “Why so reluctant, Anders? I thought Corruption was a ‘threat to all mages’?”

“Removing our source of mana along with it is hardly a solution!” Anders retorted. “There has to be another way!”

“It’s too late for that,” Hawke growled. “It’s taken us _years_ to get this far, and I won’t keep going round in circles when there’s an answer right in front of us!”

“And what about your sister?” Anders went on. “You’d destroy her magic, too? Endanger her without thought or reason?”

Hawke snatched his collar, her grip like knives.

“You have _no right_ to make Bethany a scapegoat!” she snapped. “Were you there all those nights she cried in my arms, showing me where her magic had burned her? When she’d scream awake from a nightmare in the Fade? When I watched every morning as she prayed to the Maker, _begging_ Him to take her powers away?” She threw Anders into the pillar. “The greatest wish she ever had was to be _normal_ , so don’t you dare try to use her to guilt me!”

“You’re the one using her as an excuse!” Anders roared. “You can’t sacrifice magic like this! I won’t let you!”

“I knew it, you haven’t changed at all,” Hawke scoffed. “I should have dealt with you when I had the chance…”

“Amber, please, enough!” Merrill begged. “Corruption isn’t worth your life, you don’t need to do this!” Her eyes glistened. “I don’t understand why you won’t listen to us!”

“You’re making no sense to me, either,” Varric added. “What’s happened to you?”

An ache pulsed through Hawke, and she bit her lip. The same ache that had been ripping her apart all these years, until there was almost nothing left. Tears began to creep, and she could barely hold them back.

“None of you get it _,_ do you?” She looked away, her hands shaking. “Every time, _every single time_ I’ve tried to set things straight, the Maker _always_ throws it back in my face!” She dug her nails into her palm, setting the blisters bleeding, but that pain was nothing to what raged inside. “I couldn’t protect Carver, or Mother. I had to watch Lothering crumble away, I lost Bethany to the Wardens, our family home fell apart, Kirkwall got destroyed; _and nothing I ever did made a blind bit of difference_!” Her voice cracked. “And then I set Corypheus _free_.” Her eyes hardened, and the hurricane of flame reignited. “Thousands have had to pay the price for my mistakes, and you won’t stop me getting it right for once!”

“Amber…”

_“I won’t be useless anymore!”_

Hawke thrust out her hands, bringing her Shard’s power to life. Fenris reached for his broadsword, but he was too slow. His gaze turned blank, and Varric dropped Bianca. Merrill and Anders also froze, completely under her thrall. Hot tears rolled down Hawke’s cheeks, and she choked back a sob. She didn’t care. Even if they were her friends, even if Bethany would hate her forever, she _had_ to do this.

It was the only way…

Blind-siding pain suddenly hit the back of her shoulder, and Hawke screamed. She lost her hold, and fell to her knees. Warmth trickled down her spine, sticky and wet, the bolt in her skin sharper than any knife.

“Amber!” Merrill rushed to her, crouching protectively and checking her wound. Anders scanned the walkways, picking up Hawke’s dagger, as Varric and Fenris reclaimed their weapons, returned to their senses.

A low laugh echoed, and the hairs on the back of Hawke’s neck stood on end.

“So, the Shard-bearer would even turn against her friends to rid the threat of Corruption,” a dark voice spoke. “How pathetic, indeed.”

Hawke couldn’t move, trapped with fear.

_No…impossible…_

_Not him…_

_He can’t…_

_He can’t be here!_

At last she forced herself to look up, only to find a crystallized visage staring down at her. Corypheus smirked, surrounded by ranks of Legion soldiers.

“You have put yourself on a fool’s errand, child,” Corypheus said. “And you will not best me again.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you’re not getting whiplash as we whisk ourselves back to Team Lahara…

The guest wing was eerily silent, and Lahara held her breath, not wanting to break the quiet. Her pulse rumbled in her ears, and she stepped lightly, alert for the tiniest movement. Most of the furniture was cloaked in sheets, and dust coated every surface. The Herald’s nose twitched, and she had to fight the urge to sneeze. Clearly the place had not hosted visitors for some time.

“Where are those bastards?” Sera blurted, casting her eye across the shadows.

“Indeed, it’s not like tainted chevaliers would be this stealthy,” Dorian added, staff in hand.

“They must be further inside.” Cassandra drew her sword. “Be on your guard.”

“Don’t have to remind me,” Lahara murmured. Her Shard tingled, and she clenched her fist. Since entering the wing, the rune had become very irritable, and that left a knot in her stomach. The red lyrium had to be close, and there must have been a lot of it, too. The sooner they could destroy it, the better.

The ground floor proved empty, and so Lahara led the way up the stairs. Several doors branched from the landing, and her collar clicked as she made for the first one. It was locked fast.

“Lemme see.” Sera pushed past, bringing out a set of picks. She twisted them into the keyhole, and soon the tumblers fell into place.

“Nice one,” Lahara said, flashing a wink. Sera’s face flushed, and she rubbed her cheek against her shoulder.

“You’re too sodding _nice_ ,” she muttered, as they stepped into the lavish bedroom.

“Oh, that’s right, I was supposed to be working on my bitchy streak,” Lahara answered. “Er, well done, peasant! Now kiss my feet, or something.”

Sera giggled. “I like you. You’re funny for a mage.”

“Please, compared to what’s roaming around upstairs, she’s a born comedian,” Dorian chortled.

“Hey, I can be perfectly hilarious when I need to be,” Lahara drawled. “You shouldn’t be so quick to…”

A scream erupted from the balcony, drowning the rest of her words. Lahara snapped her head towards the window, and the glint of a blade caught her eye. Snarling, she bolted, her right hand charged.

She broke onto the marble tiling, the night breeze cool against her face. An elf servant was on the floor, back-peddling from a masked assassin. He raised his knife, and the servant howled, tucking her head into her arms.

“It’s behind you!” Lahara jeered.

The assassin hesitated, only to be struck with a face-full of lightning. He yelped, and Lahara kicked him in the chest. The force sent him over the rail, and the crunch that followed confirmed he would no longer pose a threat.

Smirking, Lahara dusted her hands, turning to the servant. The elf staggered to her feet, still trembling.

“Oh, thank you!” She bowed her head. “I thought I was done for.”

“You’re one of Briala’s.” Sera poked her shoulder. “What’re you doing here?”

The servant sighed.

“She asked for this wing to be searched,” she said. “I came with two others, but we became separated. Then I found something terrible, so I tried to look for my friends and escape. That was when that assassin caught me.” She shivered. “Agents from Tevinter are lurking, and they are planning a most foul coup with Gaspard’s soldiers.”

“Venatori again?” Dorian rolled his eyes. “I’d thought that was one less headache we had to worry about.”

“Corypheus’s sure scrounging for all the help he can get,” Lahara said. “What did you find, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“They are keeping some kind of weapon below ground,” the servant replied. “It glows with this blood-red aura, and it infects the soldiers, making them immensely powerful, but also insane. I was lucky to get away when I did.”

“Ah, sounds like just what we’re after,” Lahara said, snapping her fingers. “Guess we’d better check downstairs.”

“You will not be able to reach them that way,” the servant said. “The stairwell is sealed. But there is a secret passage in the library, behind the fireplace. You need but twist the halla statue’s forefoot, and it will open for you.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Lahara said. “You’d better get out while you still can.”

“Yes, I will.” The servant licked her lips. “If you find my friends, please help them.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Lahara promised.

The group retreated to the landing, and the servant ran off. Lahara sighed, running a hand through her hair. This was proving to be a fruitful night, indeed.

“So, it appears Gaspard and Corypheus have already formed their alliance,” Cassandra spat. “How could that man look you in the eye when he is conspiring with the most dangerous threat in all Thedas?”

“Eh, you know Orlesians,” Lahara said, chewing her lip. “But we’ll confront him later. First we need to put a dent in his plan.”

Squaring her shoulders, the Herald strode to the staircase. She descended back to the hall, making for the library. It was not as large as the main palace’s, but no less as extravagant. The ceiling was decorated in gold leaf, the shelves were polished mahogany, and the armchairs were laden with velvet cushions.

Lahara paid little notice, passing the dusty tomes to reach the hearth. A grate protected it, and the mantle bore a halla statue. Behind it stood a portrait of a previous Empress, who was mounted on a horse. Her stare was unnerving, and Lahara swallowed, not allowing her own gaze to linger.

She reached for the halla statue, holding its foreleg between her thumb and finger. As the servant had said, it was not fixed, and Lahara twisted it upwards.

The screech of stone grinding on stone made Lahara’s teeth hurt, and she winced, stepping back. The back of the hearth had retracted, revealing a passage that led into darkness. The rune on her hand began to glow, and she absently rubbed it.

“Well, three guesses what’s down there,” she quipped. “Who wants to go first?”

Rolling her eyes, Cassandra pulled the grate free, before crawling through on her hands and knees. A brief quiet followed, until she called back.

“It is clear.”

Lahara slid through next, conjuring a spark of Veilfire for good measure. Cassandra helped her to her feet, and the Herald stared. They were in a dank passage, and damp mould tickled the back of Lahara’s throat. A set of stairs led further underground, and fine red dust lined the stone. Lahara frowned. They were definitely on the right track.

Choking back a cough, the Herald took point again, scanning the walls. Her Shard continued to flicker, its light enough to rival the Veilfire’s. She kept flexing her fingers, trying to rid the pins and needles. The rune had never been that sensitive to red lyrium before. Her collar clicked, and she took an uneasy breath.

_Something else was going on here._

As the passage drew to its end, a crimson glow began to emerge. Lahara tensed, and she walked faster, extinguishing her light. It was starting to remind her of Redcliffe castle, and she shivered. She would not let the Winter Palace meet the same fate.

At last the cellar came into view, and Lahara caught her breath. She darted to a shadowed corner, and her companions followed. Several soldiers were stationed at the exit, their skin crusted with poisonous crystals. A seal had been plastered over the doors, yet it was the enormous red lyrium vein that held Lahara’s eye. It sparkled in the torchlight, and a dull ache started to pound behind her temples.

“Maker’s breath, how did they sneak that in here?” Dorian whispered. “It’s huge!”

“Well, the bigger they are…” Lahara clenched her fist, nodding to Cassandra and Sera. “On my count. One, two… _now_!”

She sprang into the open, hurling a fireball into the soldiers. The chevaliers cried out, drawing their weapons, and Cassandra charged. Snarling, Lahara threw an ice rune, as Sera and Dorian rained arrows and lightning. Cassandra yelled, slicing through armour and flesh, and soon it was all over.

The Seeker huffed, sheathing her blade. Lahara breathed deeply, wiping her forehead. Her Shard continued to pulse, and she pressed her palm to her side. Ugh, why did it have to sting so much?

“Is our dear Herald getting tired?” Dorian’s tone was teasing, but his eyes betrayed his concern.

“No need to get your smallclothes in a twist, I’m fine,” Lahara answered, stretching her fingers. “Right, let me get rid of this.”

She approached the vein, the blood-red brilliance almost painful to look at. The rune on her hand ignited, and she slammed her fingers into the crystal. The vein bulged, fissures streaking across its surface, until finally it shattered.

Lahara groaned, sinking to her knees. Her right hand burned, and she hugged it to her chest, blowing off the crystal fragments. It seemed she was a little out of practice.

“Lahara!” Cassandra raced to her side. “Your Shard, is something wrong?”

“I’m good, just a bit rusty,” Lahara murmured, shaking her head. “I’ll get over it.”

She staggered back to her feet, surveying the fallen soldiers. Dorian was already crouched among them, searching through. He flung aside pouches and belts, and then his eyes widened.

“Hmm, what have we here?” He pulled out a scroll, scanning its contents. “Aha, these are orders to strike against Celene, and this is most certainly the seal of the good Duke himself.”

“Really?” Lahara wandered across and peered over his shoulder. “Hmm, so it is.” Her brow creased. “There’s no mention of red lyrium, though.”

“It is still more than enough proof of his treason,” Cassandra said. “And without the means to boost his soldiers, his scheme is foiled. We must warn the Empress at once.”

“I guess,” Lahara shrugged.

“You don’t sound convinced?” Dorian asked.

“Well, don’t you think it all seems a bit… _easy_?” Lahara answered. “And one thing still bothers me…”

A groan echoed from the library passage, cutting her short. Lahara and Dorian blinked, exchanging a confused glance, when something slammed down, sending a shudder across the air.

“Shit!” Sera shouldered her bow, sprinting for the corridor. “Damn it, some prick’s locked us in!”

“You’re kidding?” Lahara stormed towards her, catching sight of an iron gate. She rattled the bars, but they wouldn’t budge. “See, I told you!”

“I wouldn’t get so worked up.” Dorian nodded to the barrier on the exit doors. “If this was their idea of a trap, it’s not a very good one. Any mage worth their salt could dispel this.”

He raised his staff, the counter-spell on his next breath, when Lahara’s left hand abruptly shuddered. Hissing, she grasped her wrist, and the rift mark flared. White-hot pain poured through her palm, and she cried out.

“Maker, _get back_!”

Cassandra bolted, shoving Dorian aside, just as a rift burst into life above them. Brilliant green lightning shot out, scarring the floor, and howling shrieks tore through the chamber.

“What _shite_ is this?!” Sera nocked an arrow, but her arm was trembling. A hoard of Rage demons was clawing their way out of the tiles, and they bawled. “I didn’t sign up to fight sodding _demons_!”

“Welcome to the Inquisition,” Lahara muttered. Her rift mark throbbed, but she ignored it, bracing her fists. “Don’t sweat it, Sera, you can pummel them the same as anything else! Just follow my lead!”

She thrust out her hand, and a spear of ice flew free. It pierced a Rage demon, and Cassandra snarled, cleaving the rest in half. The beast shrivelled away, but Lahara was already weaving past, releasing wave after wave of icicles. The demons roared, chunks of their flaming bodies turned to brittle frost.

“Hey, leave some for us lesser mages!” Dorian scoffed, blasting a demon with his staff. “Just because you can manipulate the Fade with your bare hands, sheesh!”

“Try and keep up, then!” Lahara chimed, although it did little to distract from the pains in her arms. Both the Shard and the rift mark were like knife-wounds, and it was all she could do to keep her concentration.

_Why were they hurting so much?_

At last Cassandra sliced through the last demon, and the rift distorted. Lahara’s eyes narrowed.

“Let’s see if I remember how to do this.” She reached out, beckoning to the emerald light. The rift mark came to life once more, and Lahara bit her lip. It was like holding a naked flame against her skin, and tears welled behind her eyes. Growling, she expanded her fingers, grasping at the fluctuating energy strands.

“Having trouble?” Dorian asked.

“You’re the one complaining I was showing off,” Lahara grumbled. Still she struggled, and she let out a frustrated groan. “Ugh, come on already!”

She clenched her right fist, drawing on her Shard’s power. The effect was instant, and a jolt set her left hand ablaze. The rift shuddered, and streams of lightning broke out. They shattered the wall, and Lahara grunted, fighting to keep control.

_It shouldn’t be…this hard!_

The chamber began to rumble, and Cassandra gasped.

“Lara, it’s not going to hold!” Dorian shot to the doors, but he was too slow. Lahara tore the tangled strands away, and the rift exploded in a starburst of jade. Boiling sparks struck the floor, and Lahara yelped, the tiles melting beneath her feet. She tried to jump, when the ground disappeared and she plummeted into emptiness.

The slipstream snatched her breath, and Lahara crashed into an icy pool. The burning cold tore into her, and she choked, fighting to surface. She clawed at the darkness, unable to tell which was up. Her chest tightened, pleading for air, when a strong hand grabbed the back of her neck. Forced into the open again, Lahara spluttered, her lyrium collar on fire. The hold around her shifted, pulling her to solid ground, and she sagged against her saviour, coughing.

“Lahara, are you alright?” Cassandra took the Herald’s shoulders. A fresh cut adorned the Seeker’s brow, and it was trickling blood.

“I’m…okay…” Lahara panted, clutching her throat.

“Thank the Maker,” Cassandra breathed.

“What the sodding hell was that for?!” Sera snapped; she was sitting against a pillar, rubbing her leg. “You were only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!”

“Lara certainly likes to make things go with a bang,” Dorian commented, hauling himself out of the shallows. “Although this hasn’t happened before.” He shook the water from his sleeves, brow raised. “What were you trying to do, Herald?”

“What do you think? I was closing the rift!” Lahara flapped out her left hand, which was still sore and prickling. “It’s not as easy as it used to be.”

Dorian’s gaze softened. “I see. That is something we might have to look into.”

“Perhaps, but right now we need to find a way out,” Cassandra retorted. “I can only imagine what gossip is already spreading about your absence, Lahara.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lahara sighed. “We’d better get moving, then.”

Wringing out her sash, she stood up, studying the area. The crack in the ceiling seemed impossibly high, and Lahara whistled to herself. They had fallen quite a way, into some unknown ruins. Chipped pillars surrounded the water’s edge, and a further passage behind led into darkness.

“Well, we’re not climbing out, that’s for sure,” she mused, rubbing the back of her neck. “Better see where this takes us.”

She made for the lone corridor, summoning a Veilfire spark. However, nothing happened. Blinking, Lahara tried again, yet still no light came forth.

“What the…” Her eyes widened, a horrifying thought chilling her blood. “Dorian, can you conjure anything?”

“I would hope so.” Dorian opened his palm, a fire spell at his fingertips. However, he too found his hand cold and empty. His eyes bulged, and Lahara’s breath stuck in her throat. “Andraste’s flaming ass, that better not mean what I think it means!”

“What are you lot on about?” Sera scoffed. “I don’t see anything?”

Lahara didn’t answer, breaking into a run. She dashed through the passage, her shoulders scraping the narrow walls, and it wasn’t long before an all-too familiar pressure wrapped around her chest. Her collar flickered, and her breaths started to come in heavier gasps.

_Maker, this can’t be happening!_

She hadn’t even crossed the threshold before she knew what would be waiting. Bursting into a crumbling chamber, she skidded to a halt, her mouth dry. She was standing on a bridge, several pieces of its floor missing. Lyrium runes were carved into the supports, and the whole thing lay suspended over an ocean of black mist.

Lahara stood there, barely even noticing as the others caught up. Try as she might, she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

“Maker above…” Cassandra shook her head.

Sera was also staring, her breaths coming faster.

“Nope.” She started to back away, holding her chest. “Nope, nope, nope, didn’t see that, that’s not even…shit, oh _shit_ …so much _no_ …”

“Unbelievable!” Dorian’s jaw had gone slack. “There’s enough Corruption here to sink the entire Winter Palace and half the Dales with it!”

“And this is why I hate social functions,” Lahara whined, holding her hands to her temples. “This is the last sodding thing we need right now!”

“Lahara, keep a hold of yourself,” Cassandra said. “At least we have become aware of it, and that means we can do something before it becomes a problem.”

“Maybe,” Lahara muttered, wishing she shared the Seeker’s practicality. “Not that there’s a lot we _can_ do…”

“Would someone please tell me what that _shit_ is?” Sera’s voice was hysterical. She drew her arms around herself, trembling. “It’s nothing, nothing, just…sodding… _nothing_ …”

Lahara’s gaze softened, and she clasped the elf’s shoulder.

“It’s alright, Corruption can’t do anything to you from up here,” she soothed. Sera could only nod, still shaking. Lahara sighed, feeling sorry for the poor girl. It was only natural such a sight would strike so deeply.

“Even so, we can’t just sit on this,” Dorian said. “I’ve never seen so much Corruption in one place. And now it’s got a hole to escape through…”

He trailed off, and Lahara cringed.

_Yeah, a hole **I** was stupid enough to make…_

“So what is our plan, Inquisitor?” Cassandra asked.

Lahara bit her lip. Never mind her mistake; she had to act.

“We need to make sure this stuff can’t accidentally spill out,” she said at last. “Then we’ll have to let the others know, and quietly convince the guests this party’s not worth staying for the grand finale.”

“Ha, good luck with that,” Dorian scoffed. “This is the ball of the century, remember? No-one’s going to leave prematurely when the show’s barely even started.”

Lahara’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, we’ll give them a show, alright,” she vowed. “Count on it.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now back to the main attraction, Team Elissa!

Elissa let out a pathetic croak, the charge in Morrigan’s staff gnawing at her Shard. The rune had turned numb again, and every breath sent painful ripples through her limbs. Morrigan’s lip curled, and the muscles in her arm tensed.

“Morrigan, stop!” Alistair shifted Bethany to his left side, lunging for the apostate’s ankle. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Morrigan hissed, kicking his hand away.

“How _dare_ you!” Her amber eyes flared, and she bared her teeth. “Has that pretender enthralled you too, turning you against your own flesh and blood?!”

“I don’t know what...” Alistair stopped short, his eyes widening. “Maker’s breath, you mean the boy, he’s...”

“I see _you_ have still not learned when t’is wise to hold your tongue!” Morrigan growled, turning her staff on him. “I will not have anyone stand in my way, and if you try…”

“Morrigan.” Elissa forced the name from her lips, pushing herself to a sitting position. The room spun, and she blinked, hard. “We’re not…Megara hasn’t…”

That name ignited Morrigan, and her hand darted. Moments later she had Elissa by the throat, her fingers clawing deep.

“Did she tempt you with the promise of your memories?” Her voice was colder than steel. “Is your desperation such that you would sacrifice a _child_ to restore a past that holds nothing but misery and anguish?!”

“Morrigan, that’s _enough_!”

The scrape of a drawn blade echoed, and Morrigan froze.

“Let go of Elissa and just _listen_!” Alistair growled, his sword against her back. “We’re not with the cultists, and we don’t want to harm your… _our_ son, either! In fact we just tried to free him!”

Morrigan’s breath caught. For a long while everything fell still, until finally the pressure around Elissa’s throat vanished. Elissa coughed, slumping against the wall. She grasped her Shard, which continued to flicker beneath her shirt. Maker, would it _ever_ stop hurting…

Morrigan stared, the rage behind her eyes suddenly tempered.

“You called her Elissa…” She shook her head, fighting the disbelief threatening to spread. “Then…you _broke my spell_.”

Elissa could only nod, swallowing the bile souring her lips. Weak as she was, she didn’t miss the edge in Morrigan’s tone, nor how the apostate gawked at her Shard. And there was no way this meeting had been a coincidence.

_How did **she** get caught up in this?_

At last Morrigan sighed, and she let her shoulders slump.

“It seems much has transpired since last we met.” Her tone was cooler, almost conceding. “You need not threaten me, Alistair. I will not harm her.” She bit back the tremor in her lip. “Kieran has been missing for several days, and it has been no small effort to find him again. I cannot rest ‘til he is safe.”

Alistair nodded, withdrawing his blade.

“Never thought I’d hear those words from your lips,” he muttered, re-sheathing his sword. “But what in the Maker’s name is going on? What do these crazies want with your…our boy?”

Morrigan opened her mouth to answer, when a rumble shook the chamber. Broken stones pattered through the gap in the ceiling, and her brow creased.

“T’is not safe to speak such things here,” she said. “An exchange of information, however, would be prudent. I shall secure this room, and we will talk further.”

She walked to the barred door, raising her hand and muttering under her breath. Elissa hissed, the rune on her chest buzzing as a fresh ward came into being. The glow spread, consuming the walls and ceiling, and Morrigan turned back to the _Eluvian_.

“Follow me,” she said, “else the magic will only unsettle you again.”

She brushed her fingers over the mirror, bringing it to life. In the same instant Elissa gagged, the nausea sweeping back in full force. Wincing, she pushed herself towards the dancing swirl of light. Alistair followed, the unconscious Bethany in his arms, and together they stepped through.

A wave of dizziness flooded Elissa, and she was blinded with colour. For a moment she thought her legs would give way, when harsh light broke through. It burned away the sickness, and then solid ground returned beneath her feet.

Blinking away tears, Elissa raised her head. They were no longer underground. A fine mist hung over a hilly landscape, blanketing strange-shaped trees and long-forgotten ruins. Wolf statues lined the horizon, and flecks of grass fought against the crumbled floor tiles. It was unlike any place Elissa had seen, not quite of Thedas, yet not quite of the Fade, either. It was firm and solid and real, but an uncanny familiarity sent a chill down her spine.

_I’ve been here before?_

_But that’s not possible…_

As Elissa’s eyes grew used to the greyish atmosphere, she began to pick out other features. Criss-crossing aqueducts, bridges and towers, along with many, many more mirrors. Dozens, no, _hundreds_ of them, scattered throughout like ancient gravestones of glass. Most were broken, their fragile shards glistening on the ground, but some remained intact, their panes shimmering.

“What is this place?” Elissa asked, absently rubbing the rune on her chest. At least that seemed to have calmed a little.

“If it has a true name, t’is long lost,” Morrigan said, sitting on a jutting step. “I have come to call it the Crossroads. T’was the place the ancient elves created to traverse Thedas, and I have become very familiar with it.”

Elissa nodded. She turned to Alistair, who had laid Bethany down and was raising her legs. It wasn’t long before the mage blinked back to wakefulness, and she screwed her eyes tight, grimacing. Thank the Maker, she would be alright.

“So, you must tell me what brought you here, if your memories are already restored,” Morrigan said, holding a finger to her chin. “Although I suspect that in itself might be the reason.”

“You could say that,” Elissa answered, wary.

Morrigan’s eyes turned sharp.

“You are wise to be cautious, old friend, but let me assure you, the interest I hold in the Shards of Andraste is purely academic,” she said. “In fact, had I not seen that rune with my own eyes, I would remain sceptical they had even been freed.”

Elissa’s eyes narrowed.

“You know about the Shards?”

“Of course,” Morrigan stated flatly. “A portent, almost mythical relic consigned to the wastes of the past, thanks to Tevinter’s complacency. T’was something my mother mentioned on occasion.”

“Then you lied to me!” Elissa barked. “You said you didn’t know of any power that would remove your fugue!” She strode forward, her fists clenched. “Why in the Maker’s name did you…”

“Because I also knew that every attempt to unlock their power resulted in death,” Morrigan cut in. “You were not the first to have come across them, and I did not want to tempt fate. Thus, t’was not an avenue I considered fruitful.”

“Yet I’m still standing here,” Elissa muttered, folding her arms.

“You very nearly weren’t,” Alistair reminded, and Elissa winced. “Don’t forget that.”

“I truly did not know they would be to your benefit, Elissa,” Morrigan answered. “Just as I did not know if I had witnessed your final breaths that eve.” She bowed her head. “Perhaps I acted in haste, but t’was all I had to offer, and I wished your last moments to be peaceful.”

Elissa sighed, her gaze softening. For all the heartache Morrigan’s spell had caused, she had still saved her life, in more ways than one. It was thanks to Kieran the final blow to the Archdemon hadn’t killed her, and Morrigan’s swift actions had allowed her to cling to life after those horrific injuries. She could not begrudge her for wanting to protect her from the Shards, too.

“I won’t be able to repay that debt,” Elissa said quietly. “You will always have my thanks, Morrigan. But if you know more about these Shards, then you must tell me. You of all people know the dangers of wielding a power blind, and these cultists are prodding too close for my liking.” She stood tall, squaring her shoulders. “In return, I’ll do everything I can to see Kieran safe.”

A smile creased Morrigan’s lips.

“You have not changed, my friend, and I am glad,” she said. “Alas, I admit I know little else about the Shards. But what I have, I will share, once my son is back by my side.”

“Of course,” Elissa stated. “Any idea as to what they want him for?”

Morrigan’s scowl redoubled.

“I have no proof to my inklings,” she answered, “yet there are a few things you must know about the ‘Children of Andraste’. Perhaps then you will forgive my reaction when I discovered your presence.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Alistair mumbled.

“This ‘Megara’,” Morrigan practically spat the name, “has knowledge of a power I believed only Flemeth knew.” She looked Elissa square in the eye. “She knows about soul transfer, and has been gathering her forces to this end. One even dared approach me, so I have been watching them in turn. I had not worried too much, for it seemed they lacked an essential ingredient, until recently.” She clenched her jaw. “I would never have thought them so bold, but they confronted me directly. By the time I realised their intent, Kieran had been taken.” She bit her lip. “I was a careless, careless fool.”

Alistair exchanged a worried glance with Elissa.

“No way,” he said. “That must mean…”

“…Megara wants the old god’s soul?” Elissa finished.

“T’is the only explanation,” Morrigan said. “And since only you both knew of this outside myself, what conclusion would I draw, finding you in the same place?”

“I see,” Elissa murmured. It seemed this ran deeper than she thought.

“Um…” Bethany’s voice was hesitant, and she rubbed the back of her neck. “What exactly are you all talking about?”

“We’ll explain later,” Alistair answered. “More important right now is to get Kieran back, whatever it takes.”

“For once, I will not argue with you,” Morrigan said. “Now, what can you tell me of the ruins…”

* * *

 

Elissa slipped through the shadows, following Morrigan through the bleak corridor. Alistair brought up the rear, his jaw set. The _Eluvian_ chamber remained behind them, with Bethany standing guard inside. Elissa hadn’t been keen to leave the mage alone, but it was the only way to ensure their escape, and Bethany still had to recover fully. Nonetheless, Elissa promised herself she would make this quick.

Flustered voices murmured ahead, and Elissa clutched her dagger tighter. The cultists had been spread out thin—Bethany’s spell had done a lot of damage—but the collapse of the upper floor had limited their own route, too. No doubt Kieran would have been placed under heavier guard, as well, but they would worry about that later. First they had to find the keystone, and Morrigan had that underway.

For a while they walked in silence, until Morrigan raised her hand.

“The keystone is in the last room down this hall,” she informed. “Be ready.”

Elissa nodded, drawing her sword. Slowly, they edged further down the passage, weaving around rubble and debris. At last the doorway came in sight, and Elissa pressed herself against the wall. A glimpse revealed a familiar guard inside, along with several others. They were gathered around a sarcophagus, their backs turned. Elissa caught Alistair’s eye, and he gave a firm nod. Morrigan set her staff tip ablaze, then led the charge.

The guards started, but their cries dried on their lips as Morrigan’s spell hit. Time seemed to stop, allowing Elissa and Alistair to cut through the ranks. Helpless, the cultists fell one by one, unable to even call out. Elissa scowled, kicking the last one off her soiled blade. Her Shard purred, sensitive to the lingering magic as she searched the bodies. A polished obsidian crystal hung around the lead guard’s neck, and she snapped it off its chain.

“Is this it?” She handed the stone to Morrigan, who rolled it between her fingers.

“Yes,” Morrigan said, chewing her lip. “T’is a powerful spell indeed, one that will take time to unravel, but at least Kieran will not be bound to this place. I will remove it once he is safe.”

“Where are we going to find him, then?” Alistair asked.

Morrigan closed her eyes, concentrating. A tense silence followed, until her eyelids opened once more.

“He is in a chamber below us,” she stated. “I imagine he will be heavily guarded, however. My time-break magic will not work on so many.”

Alistair ground his teeth. “Then you’re going to need a distraction.”

“Alistair…” Elissa began.

“No argument this time,” Alistair interrupted. “It doesn’t matter what happens to me, so long as Kieran walks free.”

“I am not sure they would fall for such a ploy,” Morrigan admitted.

“It’s our only option,” Alistair pressed. “Besides, they won’t know we have the keystone, and will assume Kieran can’t move anyway. We’ll make this work, I swear.”

Morrigan sighed.

“Very well, then,” she conceded. “Follow me.”

Abandoning the corpses, she stepped back into the passageway, making for the west corridor. Elissa slowed her breathing, mindful of the slightest disturbances. They had done well so far, but a mistake now could cost them everything.

Yet something else was nagging her, too. Not everything Morrigan assumed was adding up, and she wasn’t sure what to think. After all, if the Archdemon’s soul was truly Megara’s goal, then surely she would have seized it the instant Kieran was in her grasp. It also didn’t explain why her underlings had been at the Shard temple, nor the so-called prophecy that had led them to experiment with the women.

_Something’s still missing…_

Elissa’s foreboding only deepened once they descended to lower ground. The new passage was curved, wrapping around a large chamber; perhaps the sanctum. The sight made Elissa’s pulse quicken, and she crept between the spirals of dark and light, wary. As they neared, closed double doors appeared, defended by more cultists. Some bore swords as well as staffs, which made Elissa’s heart sink further.

“Far too many, and there must be more inside,” Morrigan whispered, taking cover behind some rubble. “Alistair, we cannot go through with this.”

“So what do we do then?” Alistair hissed. “Ask them to kindly discuss things over tea?”

“There’s still a way,” Elissa murmured, an idea catching her. “But I’m going to have to be the distraction.”

“No, I won’t let you!” Alistair took her arm. “If they get their hands on you…”

“You said we had no choice,” Elissa retorted, shaking him off. “We don’t have time to think of anything else.”

“Agreed, though I dislike putting you at such risk,” Morrigan said. “What do you propose?”

“Wait here, and when there’s an opening, take the chance,” Elissa said simply. “Don’t worry about me.”

She didn’t wait for an answer and boldly stepped into the light. It wasn’t long before she was noticed, and the guards bellowed.

“The intruder!” They charged their weapons, holding their ground. It took all of Elissa’s willpower not to scramble, and she bit back her wince as her Shard flared to life. The glow was unmistakable, and it had exactly the effect she had been hoping.

The cultists stopped dead, and not one could tear their gaze from the rune.

“You…” one uttered, finding her voice. “You’re…”

“Yes,” Elissa spoke. “I’m the usurper.” She spread her arms. “So come and get me!”

The words had barely escaped her lips when she bolted, knowing the bait was too tempting. Sure enough, the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and footsteps rushed in a mad flurry.

“Do not let her escape!”

Elissa sprinted faster, retracing her steps to the floor above. Her Shard thrummed, excited by the gathering magic. Seconds later a fireball flew past her shoulder, striking the wall and showering her in embers. Ignoring the pinpricks of heat, she scrambled to the next passage, recalling the path to the pool chamber. She had to keep them as far from the _Eluvian_ as possible.

Another lightning spark, scorching the bricks, but Elissa didn’t look back. Twisting east, then north, then up a staircase, across a broken landing, then down once more, and finally she found the room. It remained unchanged, and she bounded for the gnarled roots. It was easy to find footholds in the bark, and soon she’d scaled her way through the gap in the ceiling. She emerged into dense woodland, the scent of pines and petrichor washing away the dusty staleness. Catching her breath, Elissa drew her blades, and waited.

Minutes later, a cultist’s hand poked through, and she lost no time dealing the first blow. He screamed, falling and taking several of his comrades with him. Still their attempts did not let up, but then neither did Elissa’s. She whittled through their numbers as they were forced through the bottleneck, until one set the oak on fire. Elissa flinched, the flames bringing a flush to her cheeks, and she backed away, the old wood crumbling to ashes.

Yet as it dissipated, so did the onslaught. Elissa swallowed, peering through the hole, to find the chamber deserted. She swore; they must have gone back to the sanctum. And now she had no way back inside.

Sheathing her bloodied sword, Elissa jogged into the trees, mapping a route in her head. The forest was formless, every trail appearing the same as the one before it, but at last she picked out the rotting houses of Stonewar again. From there the Chantry’s broken spire stood out, and she dashed inside, slipping through the hall and back through the trapdoor. She squeezed past the narrow rocks, her only thought to reach the _Eluvian_. She hoped she had bought Morrigan and Alistair enough time.

The sealed doorway couldn’t appear soon enough, and Elissa was almost thankful for the return of her nausea. Clasping her Shard, she halted at the bars, ramming her fist against the stone.

“Beth, it’s me, open up!”

The iron bars slid back, and Bethany opened the door, her staff charged.

“Thank the Maker, you’re okay!” She let her spell dissipate. “Where’s everyone else?”

Elissa opened her mouth to speak, when thumping steps thundered from the passage. Her hand flew to her sword, but then she caught the sparkle of armour, along with harsh wheezes.

At last Alistair broke from the shadows, drenched in sweat, and in his arms he clutched Kieran. The Warden-Commander sported a burn to his neck and his shield was missing, but otherwise he appeared unhurt.

“Get through, now!” he roared.

Bethany clenched her jaw, running to the _Eluvian_. She plunged through the rippling light, Alistair and Kieran right behind, and Elissa jumped after them. She staggered, her vision swimming in the colourful void, when Bethany took her shoulder. They landed back onto solid ground, and the mage smiled, relieved.

Alistair released Kieran, before promptly collapsing, breathing as if all the air in Thedas could not quench him. Bethany hurried to his side, while Kieran sat on a step, rubbing his eyes. The shackles remained on his wrists, but their runes were dull and lifeless.

“Are you alright?” Elissa asked, crouching beside him.

“Y-Yes,” Kieran answered, lowering his hands. His eyes shimmered. “Thank you.”

Elissa nodded, turning back to the _Eluvian_. The kaleidoscope of iridescence continued to bubble, but otherwise nothing changed. The minutes began to tick, and she tensed.

“Where’s Morrigan?”

Alistair pulled himself upright, still gasping.

“She’s not here yet?” He raised a brow. “But she was literally right behind me…”

Heart in her mouth, Elissa watched the _Eluvian_ , but there was no sign of the dark-haired apostate. Another minute, another minute; still nothing.

“Damn it, something’s happened!” Elissa swore. “I have to look for her!”

“You can’t!” Bethany protested. “I’ll go, I can…”

“You need to keep the _Eluvian_ open, and Alistair’s too exhausted,” Elissa argued. “I’ll be right back, trust me!”

“Elissa, wait!”

Bethany tried to grab her, but Elissa was too quick. She leapt into the portal, and her nausea erupted all over again. She forced herself to swallow the bile, her head spinning, and then she was back in the ruined chamber. Disorientated, she had to lean against the wall, unable to stop herself retching. Her sickness was getting worse, and it took most of her strength to remain on her feet.

Spitting out saliva, Elissa pushed herself onward, into the main corridor. A horrible taste filled her mouth, and she coughed. It didn’t matter how awful she felt; she had to find Morrigan. She could endure one more trip through the mirror…

_I have to._

She broke into a jog, checking through every room. Each step jarred the rune on her chest, and she pressed her palm against it, wanting to throw up there and then. _Ugh, come on, this was nothing_. If she had managed to beat a Pride demon in such a state, this was hardly any more difficult.

Blindly Elissa wandered, unsure where to search, when Morrigan’s scream shattered the quiet. It was coming a few rooms to the east. Elissa snatched her sword free, hurrying towards the source. She wound through the chipped bricks and dead ivy, her brow clammy. She was nearby, she was sure of it.

At last she found Morrigan; she was in a side room, pinned against a wall and surrounded by several cultists. Her staff lay broken at her feet, and her face was bloody.

Hot rage burst through Elissa, and she yelled, sword held high. Swiftly the blade tasted flesh, splattering blood everywhere. Morrigan dropped to her knees as Elissa continued, mercilessly ripping through any who came too close. More mana tainted the air, poisoning her Shard, and Elissa stumbled, caught by a sudden retch. It was enough to provide an opening, and she screamed as icy metal sank into the back of her leg.

“Elissa!” Morrigan grabbed a fallen staff, shooting a blast of frozen air. The cultist cried out, encased in a block of ice, and Elissa finished him off. Her sword cleaved through his torso, shattering it like glass. He crumpled, and Elissa almost did the same, her energy spent. Morrigan was just quick enough to catch her.

“Hurry, we must escape!” The apostate pulled her to her feet, and Elissa howled, her leg a burning wreck. Blood was trickling thickly, soaking into her boot, and her vision was clouding. Morrigan hissed, draping Elissa’s arm across her shoulders. Elissa managed a hobble, desperate not to be sick.

“Get…to Kieran…” she muttered, trying to push Morrigan away. “I’ll…catch up…”

“Do not let delirium rule your judgement,” Morrigan chided. “I will not abandon you, Elissa. Hold a moment, I must stem the blood loss.”

She crouched, touching Elissa’s wound with her borrowed staff. Elissa yelped, her leg stinging, the scent of burning flesh soiling her nostrils. Morrigan clenched her jaw, taking Elissa’s arm again and picking up their pace. Elissa winced, struggling to keep up.

“I am sorry,” Morrigan said, “but I have not the mana to heal you properly. We must get…”

“There they are, stop them!”

A flash of lightning streamed from the passage, and Elissa shoved Morrigan into the wall. The bolt missed, but barely, and the rune on her chest rumbled, for a moment numbing the pain. Morrigan bared her teeth, throwing a barrier to block their pursuers. She grabbed the back of Elissa’s shirt.

“ _Just run_!” she shrieked.

She bolted, and Elissa chased after, not caring as the wound re-opened and flooded her calf once more. Lightning and fire danced around her, and her leg shuddered every time she put weight through, but adrenaline was enough to keep pain a distant memory. It did nothing for her sickness, however, and every spell was like a blow to her stomach, filling her mouth with bile.

They rounded the corner, just as a spear of ice shattered in front of Elissa. Her foot caught on the shards, and she tripped. She managed to catch herself on her hands, hoping to scramble back, when a ripple shivered around her. Suddenly her limbs fell dead, a vice-like band snared her chest, and then her Shard burst into agony.

Elissa screeched, as if hundreds of flamed daggers had torn through her. She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe. Next she knew, the cultists were onto her like a swarm of ants. Her arms were yanked back, bound together with rough cords, and she was thrown to the ground. That was too much, and she finally vomited, the taste of blood sour and vile. Still the rune was a venomous arrow, burning, roaring, rushing through her veins like a boiling cascade.

_No…no!_

“Forget the witch, we have the usurper!” an apostate snarled, kicking her in the ribs. A flash of memory gripped Elissa—the dark fortress, Cauthrien’s merciless assault—but she was hauled to her feet before it would unfold. Her leg cried out, but all she could manage was a pathetic whimper.

Another savage elbow to the side, knocking her breath, and then she was dragged down the corridor. She couldn’t walk, and her heels scraped the floor tiles, catching every loose stone and torn vine. Not a single part of her could recall anything but pain and pressure, so it was a shock when she was thrown onto icy stone. Someone pulled her arms apart, and the jingle of chains rang through her ears. Cold, heavy iron adorned her wrists, and then she was left to hang, her own weight more than enough to send her back and shoulders screaming.

Soft chuckling echoed, followed by clacking footfalls. A shadow paused over Elissa, but she couldn’t look up. All she could see was the blade of a mage’s staff, and fur-lined boots.

“Well, it’s about time.”

Megara’s suave voice broke through, and gnarled fingers wrapped around Elissa’s cheek. Her head was tilted upwards, and brilliant amber eyes shone back, almost cat-like. An amethyst dangled around her neck, glowing with power. Elissa froze, and Megara’s smile widened.

“It’s good to see you again,” she purred, “Sixteen.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to go underground again and see what’s happening with Team Hawke…
> 
> Remember I said things were going to get dark? Well…don’t say I didn’t warn you…

 

A shiver ran through Hawke, and her fingers bunched into a fist as several Legionnaires surrounded them. Fenris and Anders braced their weapons, standing shoulder to shoulder, while Merrill bit back her trembling. The bolt in Hawke’s shoulder burned, and she hissed.

_This couldn’t be real._

“Truly, how does a relic of such power choose such weaklings to wield them?” Corypheus rumbled, his eyes intent on Hawke’s forehead. He clenched his fist, the red lyrium crystals glowing. “That shall soon be rectified.”

“Us ‘weaklings’ can still kill bastards like you!” Varric snarled, his finger locked on Bianca’s trigger. “We’ve done it before, and we won’t mess up this time!”

“Watch your tongue, you sun-touched son of a bitch!” growled a Legionnaire, angling his own crossbow at him.

“What the hell’s gotten into you guys?!” Varric spluttered. “You’re working for the magister who’s the reason we _have_ darkspawn!”

“You understand nothing.” Another dwarf stepped forward, sporting a black beard and the Commander’s tattoos; Volstock. “For centuries we’ve fought to reclaim what we’ve lost, and every day we’re pushed further and further back. Now, thanks to Corypheus, we have a means to end it, once and for all.” He raised his sword. “Now surrender.”

“Never!” Anders growled. “Even the Wardens wouldn’t condone this!”

“Your so-called Grey Wardens are weak, fearful of their true potential,” Corypheus spat. “As are you, Shard-Bearer.” His eyes flashed. “You will relinquish it to me, now.”

Hawke bared her teeth.

“You want my Shard, Corypheus?” A dark smile spread across her lips. “Then you’ll have to carve it out of my dead skull!”

She sprang, the pain in her back forgotten, and flung out her hand. Her Shard burst into light, and the surrounding Legionnaires cried out, clamping their palms to their faces. Hawke didn’t let up, breaking through their mental barriers, making them relive every horrific memory of the Deep Roads as if it were happening this very moment.

Yelling, Fenris charged, cleaving through the distracted ranks. Anders was right behind, swinging his staff like a polearm, and the soldiers scattered, falling to a broadsword or knocked into the Corruption below.

As they made to regroup, Corypheus roared, unsheathing a sword. He seemed immune to her power, so Hawke backed away, drawing her remaining dagger. Her shoulder throbbed, but she knew better than to tear out the bolt.

“That Shard will be mine!” The magister lunged, and Hawke dodged, the blade skimming the air. That was enough for Varric, who unleashed a volley of bolts. Corypheus snarled, stumbling back, and Hawke leapt, landing a savage kick. The impact sent him dangerously close to the edge, but he was able to right himself before he would fall.

Hawke scowled, bracing her dagger as Volstock took point. He raised his shield, his sword-arm tensed.

“You’re an idiot, Volstock,” Hawke scoffed. “You really think Corypheus will keep his word? He’ll only enslave you instead!”

Volstock snarled in answer, charging. Hawke caught the blow with her blade and twisted the Commander’s sword aside. She kicked her knee up, cracking his elbow, before grabbing his chest-plate and throwing him over her head. The bolt in her back shrieked, and she howled, grasping her shoulder. Volstock groaned, slamming into the ground and dropping his blade, which Merrill kicked over the walkway.

“Amber, we can’t fight them all!” Anders had retreated to the lyrium vein, his staff broken, his cloak stained with blood.

“No!” Hawke stood her ground, blotting out the pain. “We’re not leaving ‘til he’s…”

“ _Watch out!_ ”

Fenris bolted, pulling Hawke into his arms as he tackled her to the ground. Hawke yelped, her back on fire as the bolt lodged deeper. Not a moment after, the chamber shook. The groan of stone giving way filled Hawke’s ears, and the ceiling shuddered. The lyrium arches trembled, but Fenris was already back on his feet, dragging Hawke behind him. Despite the agony in her spine, Hawke scrambled, stumbling as debris rained down.

They had just left the bridge when a chuck of roof slammed down. The walkway screamed, buckling from the weight. The howls of Legionnaires unlucky enough to be caught shortly followed. Volstock swore, jumping onto a lyrium arch, as did several of his companions. Corypheus hissed, retreating to the entrance passage, right as a boulder crashed down, sealing him off.

Eventually the tremors ceased, and Hawke grimaced. She rubbed her stinging shoulder, glancing over the ruins. Volstock and his men were trapped on the upper path, and there was no way to reach the other side. No way to reach Corypheus and finish the job she’d so miserably failed.

But it was more than that that made her gawk. With the arches broken, the Corruption had become agitated. It bubbled and frothed, eating into the veins, and the lyrium began to crystalize, like a poison spreading inside.

“Oh no!” Merrill held her hands to her chest. “The Corruption, it’s…”

Soft chuckling echoed from above, cutting her off. Bemused, Hawke raised her head. Her eyes widened. A tall figure stood atop the single intact archway, surveying the chaos. His silver-blonde hair gleamed in the light, revealing a tattoo on his face. He had a dagger embedded in a lyrium vein, and he removed it, the blade glistening.

“Sorry for cutting in,” Zevran said, grinning. “But you looked like you could use a hand.”

The rune on Hawke’s forehead sparked. Snarling, she snapped up her dagger.

“Get lost, Zevran!” she hissed. “Don’t come any closer!”

“Aw, you wound me, Champion,” Zevran answered. Ignoring her warning, he jumped, landing on the path beside them. Hawke held her ground, her teeth bared. Zevran simply folded his arms, tilting his head to one side.

“I know what you must think,” he went on, “but what happened with the Herald was an accident, a miscalculation, if you will. I promise I will not be so careless again.”

“You think I’m going to buy that crap?” Hawke scoffed. “Look at what you’ve just done!”

“You’ve turned this place into a death trap!” Anders snarled. “If Corruption breaks into the Deep Roads, nothing will be able to stop it!”

“I am well aware,” Zevran answered calmly. “But I did not act without thought, as you believe. I could not let Corypheus take your Shard, and so I loosened the lid on this cage. All that needs be done is to tighten it again.”

“And so Amber has to risk her life?” Merrill’s voice was sharp. “You’re not playing fair!”

“There is no such threat,” Zevran stated. “All it requires is a rechannelling of lyrium in the next cage back here.” He gestured to the far wall, where one of the arches ran straight into the rock. “A simple enough feat with your power, my dear. All you need to do is command the lyrium where you choose.”

“No.” Hawke clenched her fist. “I’m not going to just _contain_ it. Not when I can do more.”

“You will _not_.” Fenris clamped her wrist. “You can’t risk yourself, not when Corypheus is close enough to take advantage!”

“That’s precisely _why_ I have to do this now!” Hawke barked, shaking him off. “If he makes an army of dust monsters, he’ll be unstoppable!”

“Amber…”

A cry from the adjacent path interrupted; reinforcement Legionnaires were emerging from the passage, heading straight for them. Volstock and his surviving men were also navigating the fallen arches, the Corruption edging higher and higher.

“We should continue such pleasantries later,” Zevran said, dropping into a defensive stance. “Do as you will, my friend. Accommodate or eradicate, but do not leave this unattended. I will buy you time.”

“They will not get past me, either,” Fenris declared.

“I’ll back you up, too,” Varric added.

Hawke felt a prickle in her chest. The Corruption was spreading too fast; she wouldn’t have time to erase it before it caught them.

“But…”

“Blondie, Daisy, keep our hot-head from doing anything stupid,” Varric went on, reloading.

“Make the right choice, Amber,” Fenris said. “For all our sake’s.”

Before Hawke could argue further, a crossbow bolt flew past, striking the wall.

“Damn it,” she muttered, “you’d both better stay alive!”

She broke into a run, Anders and Merrill on her heels. Every step jarred her shoulder, and she bit her lip, nausea never far away. Her muscles sang with exhaustion, and she shook her head. Eradicating Corruption would take too long, and when she had no guarantee it would remove the mist she was leaving behind…

_Alright, guys._

_You win._

The next containment cage appeared, almost identical to the previous one. This held six lyrium arches, towering above another pit of Corruption. Two arches were also joined to the walls, forming a more complex bridging system.

“That vein, it must be linked to the other chamber,” Anders pointed out. “Hurry!”

Nodding, Hawke made to climb the arch. Before she touched the first stone, however, Merrill gripped her hand. Her eyes were glistening.

“Please, Amber,” she said softly. “We love you. I don’t…I don’t want to lose…”

“It’s alright, Merrill.” Hawke squeezed her fingers. “I’ll fix this, I promise.”

She hauled herself up the pillar, then jogged to the bulging vein. Taking a breath, she twisted her fingers inside, the liquid tingling against her skin. Her Shard flared with warmth, and she closed her eyes, picturing the vein. She urged it to change direction, and the vein pulsed, seeming to respond to her thoughts.

Merrill gasped, and Hawke opened her eyes. The left side of the arch had turned dull, while the right was now bathed in brilliance. It shimmered, streaming towards the previous cage. As the lyrium seeped deeper into the stone, however, Hawke’s Shard flared. Wincing, she held her forehead, her palm buzzing.

“Yes, I think you did it!” Anders said.

“And the Corruption here isn’t changing, either,” Merrill added. “That was close.”

Hawke nodded, a cool sweat settling on the back of her neck. Her first thought was to return to the others, when a throbbing shriek echoed through her temples. She cried out, clamping her palms to her face. A wave of dizziness followed, and she stumbled. But there was no ground to catch her, and she yelped, falling.

At the last second a hand grabbed her wrist, and her injured shoulder howled, almost torn from its socket.

“Anders, help!” Merrill struggled to keep her grip, as Anders came running. He hooked his hands under Hawke, and she groaned. She clawed at the stone, trying to regain footing, when a bellow rocked from below. Bolts flew upward, and Merrill screamed, blood spraying from her arm. Anders yelled, his hold jarred, and another flurry of projectiles sent both him and Hawke tumbling.

They spiralled through the empty air, slamming into the lower arch. The shock tore the breath from Hawke’s lungs, and she lay on her front, her temple trickling blood. Anders groaned, holding his leg.

Fighting through pain, nausea, exhaustion, Hawke forced herself onto all fours. The glow of lyrium hurt her eyes, and the chamber swirled, losing form. She coughed, wanting to be sick again, when armoured steps approached.

“Give up.” Volstock’s voice broke through the haze. “Or I’ll throw them into the _Stone-darkness_.”

Hawke squinted, trying to focus through the spots of shadow. When clarity returned, her breath caught. Varric and Fenris were on their knees, beaten and bloodied.

And there was no sign of Zevran.

_He’d cheated them… **again**._

Hawke’s shoulders slumped. There was only one choice left.

“Take me, then.” She offered her wrists. “But let them go.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Volstock said. He turned to his men. “Secure the mages, and bring them all with me.”

The Legionnaires scattered, and Hawke flinched, hauled to her feet. Her weapons were discarded, and then she was dragged back through the passage.

As they re-emerged into the first cage, her jaw hung slack. The Corruption had settled again, controlled by the over-powered single arch, but the stone itself had been pulled out of form, creating a new criss-crossing set of walkways.

And in the centre stood Corypheus, untouched and unblemished.

_Just like last time._

Volstock brought her before him. There he elbowed Hawke in the back, deliberately over the bolt, and she hissed, dropping to her knees.

“Such power,” Corypheus murmured, his eyes hungering. “To subvert the minds of so many, to bend the flow of lyrium to your own will…”

His hand shot out, clamping Hawke’s throat. Hawke couldn’t even scream as he lifted her off the ground, unable to breathe. Corypheus gave an amused chuckle, bringing his other hand to her forehead. Her Shard burned, and Hawke writhed, pain and fear and sickness merging into a deafening cacophony.

_Stop…_

_Make it stop, **make it** **stop!**_

An enraged bellow broke from behind, loud enough to sunder the heavens. Panicked cries and shouts rang out, and a raging wind stormed past. Next Hawke knew, the pressure around her neck vanished, and she was back on her knees, wheezing for air.

Another inhuman screech, along with the blinding flash of lyrium, and Hawke blinked. Fenris’s markings had come to life, his eyes wild with blood-lust. He tore into Corypheus, shrieking like a man possessed. Corypheus groaned, his red lyrium crystals ripped clean off, and the blows were never-ending, severing anything they could reach.

Corypheus staggered, seemingly overwhelmed, but it was a ruse. As Fenris made for another punch, he caught the elf’s wrist, snapping it backwards. Fenris hissed, stumbling, and then Corypheus finally countered. Red lyrium sprouted in his palm, and he tore into Fenris’s stomach, shredding through skin and muscle.

Fenris howled, the red lyrium burning into the tattoos on his body. Slowly, the blue lines started to turn red, and he choked and writhed, his arms falling uselessly beside him. Corypheus scowled, clenching his fingers, making Fenris groan and shiver.

“Know your place, _slave_!”

“ _Fenris!_ ” Hawke tried to stand, but heavy hands pinned her down.

_No, please, please!_

Corypheus twisted his hand one final time, before throwing Fenris to the ground. The elf warrior was a mess of blood and torn flesh, barely still breathing. His markings were now completely red, with tiny crystals sprouting along his chin and neck.

“Bastard, _bastard_!” Varric shrieked, fighting against his captors. “I’ll tear your throat out, I’ll…”

A sharp blow to the head broke his words, and he spat out blood.

“Now.” Corypheus shook his hand, as if he’d touched something vile. He stepped over Fenris, and Hawke’s arms were twisted behind her, forcing her head up. Tears were frozen on her face, and she couldn’t move. She’d lost everything.

_If he’d…if he’d just **let me** …_

Corypheus’s soiled fingers gripped her cheek, plastering Fenris’s blood on her skin. The coppery scent triggered her nausea again, and he pressed his thumb to her forehead. Her Shard burned, provoked into life, and she tried to let out the scream locked in her throat.

But before the world went dark, Corypheus suddenly choked. Hawke was released, and she caught the gleam of a blade in the magister’s chest. Corypheus’s eyes widened, and he glanced back. Fenris was panting, his hand clenched around the sword’s hilt. With impossible strength he stood once more, his entire body corrupted, but his eyes were whole, his own.

“I…” His voice was a raspy whisper. “…am…no… _slave!_ ”

He ripped the blade free, then threw himself at Corypheus. The magister yelled, locked in a deadly embrace, as Fenris dragged him to the walkway edge.

“Fenris!” Hawke bawled. “No, don’t!”

Fenris closed his eyes, a final smile gracing his lips.

“Goodbye…Amber…”

Then he fell backwards, straight into the ocean of Corruption. Corypheus howled, but he was trapped. Together they plunged into the mist, and the magister’s screams faded to quiet echoes.

“NO!” Hawke broke the Legionnaires’s hold, their grip suddenly lax, and scrambled to the walkway edge. All she could see was undulating darkness, and she sobbed, the ache in her chest unbearable. “Fenris, Fenris!”

“Hmph.” Volstock huffed, wiping the blood from his face. “Finally, it took damned near long enough!”

His tone ignited Hawke, and she stood, adrenaline blotting out the pain.

“ _You_ _piece of shit_!” She made to attack, but he easily caught her wrists, throwing her back to his men. They locked her arms behind her once more, and she hissed.

“You dare say a word to me, when you almost ruined everything?!” Volstock barked, aiming a savage slap. Hawke yelped, burning pain ringing through her cheek.

“What…the hell…are you talking about?” Varric’s voice was quiet, but not yet broken.

Volstock snarled.

“You honestly think the Legion is that stupid, that we’d sell our loyalties on the turn of a sovereign like those corrupt Noble fools?! That’d we’d follow a madman like _him_?” His fists shook. “I had these cages made so we could _trap_ Corypheus, block his powers and send him to the Stone where he goddamn belongs!” The vein on his temple bulged. “Do you know how long it took to convince him to come here, without his Red Templar honour guard…”

“Then why didn’t you say something?!” Hawke spluttered. “Fenris is _dead_ because of you!”

“How was I to know you stupid surfacers would interfere?” Volstock sneered. “I couldn’t break the façade! And when you were the ones who started this disaster in the first place…”

He trailed off, and Hawke flinched.

“How…How do you know that?” Varric asked.

“Please, the carta told me everything,” Volstock growled. “How you killed this… _thing_ , only for it to come right back, with a fresh darkspawn army under its wing!” He brushed the cut on his face. “The Wardens were absolute fools, they never should have…”

Suddenly Anders let out a terrifying howl. Hawke shuddered, a horrible tightness gripping her. All eyes fell to the mage, who was still in the grasp of three Legionnaires. He was shaking violently, every muscle twitching.

“Anders!” Merrill’s voice was panicked.

Anders didn’t hear. His body trembled, and then he threw his head back, screaming in a voice that wasn’t his own. At the same time, the markings on his body blazed, and his eyes turned to pure, brilliant light. The Legionnaires tried to hold him, but the light surged and they yelped, forced to let go.

“What in the Stone’s name is this?!” Volstock cried, snatching a knife from his belt.

“ _He is not yours_!” Justice’s voice rumbled from Anders’s lips, shrill, distressed.

“Justice!” Hawke tried to move, but she’d barely managed a step when her Shard erupted. She cried out, every sense consumed.

_What’s…_

_What’s…happening…_

Another screech broke from Anders; his own voice, this time. The light burned stronger, until finally it burst into flash-fire. Anders’ eyes turned hollow and lifeless, and the ghost of a spirit escaped his mouth. Like a rag-doll he flopped, landing on his knees, and then his body rippled. Red lyrium began to sprout over his skin, distorting, twisting, stretching bone and sinew and forming altered proportions.

“Shit, shit, _shit_!” Varric shrieked. “Blondie…he’s…shit…he’s a Warden, a goddamn _Warden_ , just like _Larius_! That’s it, that’s how the bastard survived, he…”

The rest of his words were drowned out, as Hawke screamed. Her Shard was agony, tearing into her skull like a hundred hammer-blows at once, and she _felt_ another presence, hungry for the rune’s power.

**_Please…the Fade…I need…I must…_ **

“No, no!” She dug her nails into her temples, fighting with every last bit of herself. No, not herself; Justice. “Get out, get out, _get out_!”

Her thought started to shift and dissect, that _other_ trying to silence, to drown, to take over, merging with her Shard.

**_I must…return…_ **

_No, leave me, leave me leave me leave me!_

**_I…we must…we are…_ **

_Not you, not you!_

And then her mind fell silent. Every thought was cut away, and calmness overwhelmed. The soothing coolness spread, banishing the pain, the heat, the feelings. Her Shard thrummed, filling her with new strength, and she stood quiet, aware but unaware, seeing but unseeing.

“How fortunate.” Corypheus stepped forward, giving his new form a stretch. “I would never have thought to see your treachery, dwarf.”

He snapped his arm out, shattering armour, and Volstock bawled. Gasping, he tried to counter, but Corypheus twisted his neck, and he fell, lifeless. Smirking, the magister tossed the Commander’s body aside.

That was enough for the Legionnaires, who lost their nerve and sprinted in retreat. Merrill and Varric cried out, trying to reach Hawke, but they were dragged in tow, unable to escape.

“Amber, wake up!”

Merrill’s cry died on the air, and Corypheus huffed, turning his back to them. He stepped before Hawke, and touched her Shard. The rune flared, turning red, as Hawke remained motionless.

“Heed me, spirit of Justice,” Corypheus began. “You have a sacred power bestowed upon you. You above all know Thedas is chaotic, filled with pain and suffering and needless death. Join me, and I will see justice restored, and your purpose fulfilled.”

Hawke closed her eyes, her new powers taking hold.

“Yes.” She knelt, crossing her arms. “I am Justice. I am Vengeance.” Her eyes glowed crimson. “And blood can only be repaid in blood.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, the latest live from the Winter Palace with Team Lahara!

“Inquisitor!”

Lahara jumped, not expecting the sudden address as she re-entered the ballroom. She flashed Leliana an apologetic glance, before turning to the waiting party. Duchess Florianne smiled, and Lahara had to stop herself rolling her eyes. It had taken long enough to get out of the ruins, and even Dorian’s glamour spell didn’t hide all the stains on her uniform. But the Herald was not naïve; the Duchess had been waiting for her, she was sure of it.

“Such timing, your Grace,” Lahara said, shifting her eyes and hoping Florianne would get the hint. “But if you could…”

“Come now, my Lady,” the Duchesses went on, taking Lahara’s arm. “You have been very busy foraging around the palace. I may not have another chance to converse with you.”

Lahara’s eyes narrowed. It seemed Florianne had also been keeping a close eye on her.

“We both have concerns regarding…certain persons,” Florianne continued, lowering her voice. “I have information you may find useful.” She pulled Lahara towards the dance floor. “Dance with me and I will gladly share, away from curious ears.”

“How could I possibly refuse?” Lahara muttered, clenching her fist. There was no getting out of this, but the sooner she got it over with, the better.

She followed the Duchess to the gathered couples. They joined hands, and Lahara sighed, her collar clicking. Any other time, the Herald would have been thrilled—dancing was one of her favourite pastimes—but all that rested on her mind was the bubbling time-bomb beneath their feet. Still, breaking decorum would just stir panic. She would have to endure for now.

The music chimed, and Florianne took the lead. Lahara kept their hands linked, matching time with her steps.

“Tell me,” the Duchess began, “what do you know of our civil war?”

“Oh, I know enough,” Lahara answered, twisting with her and wishing she was very much a certain mage instead. “It’s got everyone inside and outside of Orlais waiting with baited breath, for sure.”

“That it has,” Florianne said, making alternate turns with her palm pressed against Lahara’s. “The affairs of Orlais are central to the world, after all.” She brought her lips close to the Herald’s ear, and Lahara fought the urge to flinch. “It took much effort to arrange tonight’s negotiations, yet one party would try to mark such occasion with the blood of their opponent.”

“Isn’t that just Orlesian tradition?” Lahara asked, trying to hide her discomfort. The Duchess seemed informed about Gaspard’s plan, and the Herald was aware that Florianne also knew _she_ knew.

“Perhaps, but when the stakes involve the security of the Empire, we play by different rules,” Florianne said. “We both know what catastrophe should occur if Celene’s leadership were undermined.”

“Indeed.” Lahara’s voice was clipped, and she was beginning to think the Duchess was dragging their dance out on purpose.

“You yourself also hold a special role in all this.” Florianne’s eyes sparkled behind her mask. “You are the honoured guest of my brother, and a curiosity to many. Some may even say a concern.”

Lahara didn’t miss the veiled threat.

“Well, comes with the territory,” she said, not hiding her own menace. “I’m a _mage_ , after all.”

She rested her right hand on Florianne’s shoulder, letting her Shard glow for a moment. Florianne tensed.

“You…You have little time, Inquisitor,” the Duchess said, managing to retain composure. “But the deadliest threat is not the most obvious one.” She clasped Lahara’s wrist as they spiralled around the dance floor, her fingernails digging through the Herald’s glove. “Gaspard is bold, but Briala is cunning. Both will play each other off, and Celene will be caught between them. You must intervene before that elf woman strikes and pushes blame onto my brother. She is hiding in the palace gardens, waiting for her moment.”

“How informative,” Lahara said, her brows narrowing.

“The night will not be young for much longer,” Florianne went on. “Do what you will, Inquisitor, but I recommend you do not delay. There will be no time for second chances.”

“Don’t I know it,” Lahara murmured, and her collar clicked again. “Thanks for the tip.”

She tilted the Duchess back, ending the dance to raucous applause. Florianne smiled, releasing her, and they parted with a bow. Lahara let the moment hang as long as she dared, and when the Duchess turned away, she all but bolted back to the upper floor. She’d wasted enough time, although the dance hadn’t been entirely fruitless. But who was out to blame who paled to the disaster that would unfurl should Corruption find an escape…

“Inquisitor!” Leliana was waiting on the steps, cane in hand. Lahara practically threw herself at the spymaster. She latched onto Leliana’s arm, and several nobles sighed in disappointment, backing away.

“We need to talk, now.” Lahara glanced around. “Where’s Josie, and Cullen?”

“Awaiting your further command,” Leliana explained. “Cassandra mentioned some brief details, but we must discuss what to do next.”

She gripped her cane, making a steady walk to the rear balcony. Inquisition soldiers greeted them as they slipped through into the open air. As promised, Cullen and Josephine were waiting, anxiously pacing the tiles.

“Herald!” Cullen’s face filled with relief as he approached. “I am glad you are unhurt. But I fear your news does not bode well for us?”

“Sadly, no.” Lahara rubbed the back of her neck. “The Duchess decided to add her own two pennies just now, too.” She shook her head. “Why can’t everyone just get along?”

“Alas, such is the way of the court,” Josephine said. “Dorian showed me the papers you found, and one of the Duke’s close friends has also confided. It seems Gaspard is trying to frame Briala for Celene’s assassination, and he plans to move very soon.”

“Oddly enough, Florianne told me the exact opposite,” Lahara said, “that Briala’s out to pin blame on Gaspard.” She scratched her nose. “She’s supposedly hanging around in the gardens, waiting for her chance.”

“It does not surprise me Florianne would stick up for her brother,” Leliana said. “However, the Duchess is not below selling him out, either. She may be throwing smoke, trying to make us look in the wrong corners.”

“Not going to argue with you there,” Lahara said. “But we need to follow whatever leads we get, as it’s not just the Empress’ life on the line.”

“What are you talking about?” Cullen asked.

“We’re standing on a nightmare waiting to happen,” Lahara said. “There’s an ancient ruin beneath the palace foundations, and it’s stuffed to the brim with Corruption.”

Leliana’s eyes widened, and Josephine let out a squeak. Cullen paled.

“That…That is not funny, Herald,” the Commander stammered.

“Believe me, I wish I were joking,” Lahara replied. “There’s enough of the mist to swallow half the Dales, and it could leak out any second.” She brushed back her hair, opting not to mention that the latter was partly her fault. “Anyway, that makes our first priority to evacuate the palace. Then we’ll have to find some way to plug the gap ‘til Amber comes up with a way to contain it permanently.”

“That will not be easy,” Josephine said. “A few well-placed words may convince the nobles, but the servants, the bards, even Celene herself will hardly pay heed to what they perceive is an empty threat. She cannot leave until she has secured her position.”

“I get that, and I’ve got a plan that should help,” Lahara said. “Meanwhile, Cullen, you need to pull out all of our troops as soon as possible.”

“And leave ourselves defenceless?” Cullen shook his head. “I cannot withdraw our entire force, Herald. The risk is too much!”

“And I’m not going to risk getting them all killed!” Lahara snapped. “If a drop of Corruption gets to the surface, it’ll be curtains for everyone, and even my Shard won’t be able to help.”

“I understand that,” Cullen said, “as do my soldiers. I can reduce their numbers, but those who stay behind are fully aware of the consequences, as they were in Haven. You needn’t be so overprotective, Herald.”

Lahara sighed, fingering her lyrium collar.

“Alright,” she conceded. “I suppose they can back Josie up, and help in getting the nobles out. Might be an idea to keep some around Celene, too.” She turned to Leliana. “Leliana, I’ll need you to work your magic, as well. Whatever rumours need to spread, get as many people out as you can, and your spies.”

“Of course,” Leliana said. “But how do you plan to tackle the servants, and Celene?”

“I made a new friend while investigating earlier,” Lahara answered, “and I’ve already sent her to speak with Briala’s people. If Sera can get them to withdraw, I can’t imagine the rest of the servants would want to hang around. As for Her Imperial Majesty…” The Herald squared her shoulders, her gaze drifting back to the ballroom. “I’m going to need to borrow you, Josie.”

* * *

Lahara swallowed, standing alone on the ballroom floor. Every noble eye was upon her, including the Empress’s, and she flexed her fingers, nervous. It was silly to feel self-conscious, as it had been her idea in the first place. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about Bethany watching; that would have been too much. She could only hope the Empress’s fascination with the arts was as strong as everyone claimed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, honoured guests and Your Imperial Majesty,” the ballroom herald announced, “the Inquisition wish to present an unusual request, so they shall speak it thus for your pleasure.”

He gestured to Josephine, who stepped forward.

“The Inquisition extends its greetings to all gathered here tonight,” the ambassador spoke. “We are humbled to attend this eve, amidst the lifeblood of this proud and beautiful nation.” She paused, letting the murmurs of approval spread. “Thus, to honour our ties to this great Empire, our Inquisitor would like to perform the Raventrist, a dance traditional to the Free Marches, for Her Imperial Highness. We hope it will be to your enjoyment.”

A surprised gasp rang through the crowd, and Lahara bit back a smirk. The Raventrist was a famous Free Marcher dance, incredibly complex and intricate. Lahara had learned it to prove a point to a Templar in Ostwick many years ago, and the routine had remained with her ever since. It would be sure to hold the guests’ attention, and was plenty long enough to allow Josephine and Leliana to plant the seeds for the evacuation.

“The Inquisition honours me with such a gesture,” Empress Celene said, folding her hands together. “The floor is yours, Inquisitor.”

Lahara licked her lips, taking a deep breath. The musicians took their cue, and struck the first chords. The familiar rhythm soon took hold, and Lahara twirled her arms. Then her feet began to move, and she drifted across the floor. Slow, circular movements, weaving in time with the bells and strings. The blood rushed through every vein, setting her senses alight, and she lost herself to the dance.

The tempo quickened, and so did Lahara’s steps. She spread her hands, her twin marks coming to life, and awed cries echoed through the audience. Still she swept across the floor, almost gliding, her body an extension to the melody singing around the ballroom. In that moment, she barely noticed the entranced stares, nor the worries in the back of her mind. All that mattered was the movement, the energy, and the release and exhilaration coursing through every pore.

Eventually the music calmed, returning to its original pace. Lahara mirrored its descent, each twirl and double-step slowing as she came to the platform below Celene. Her face glistened with sweat as she finally halted, holding her pose. The music ended in a brilliant flare, and the nobles erupted into applause. Lahara smiled, bowing low. That had been more fun than she expected.

“That was truly exceptional!” Celene beamed, her eyes gleaming. “You are a woman of many talents, Inquisitor. It is rare such leaders show appreciation for the traditional arts. We are most impressed.”

“It was an honour to share such,” Lahara answered, still catching her breath.

“Indeed,” the Empress said. “It has been long since such a spontaneous display enraptured us so. It deserves a reward.”

Lahara fought to contain her smirk. It seemed her plan had worked.

“Then might I ask a simple favour, Your Imperial Highness?”

Celene peered over the balcony, brow raised.

“I understand the importance of tonight’s negotiations,” Lahara began, “but there are dangers beyond even the Maker’s control that lurk below the palace. It would not be wise to linger when they could spill at any moment. Perhaps your business could be concluded at a more suitable venue?”

An amused smile graced the Empress’s lips.

“Your warning is gratefully received, Inquisitor, but wholly unnecessary,” she said. “The climax of this night is almost upon us, you will not have to wait much longer, I assure you.”

She bowed her head, signifying dismissal, and Lahara sighed. Damn it—she’d been so close!

She trudged back to the upper floor, wiping her brow with her sleeve. Still, as she glanced around, there was a definite change in the atmosphere. Many nobles were whispering to each other, and some were starting to slip towards the main entrance, grabbing their servants along the way. Josephine was across the chamber, deep in conversation with several lords, and more guests wandered past her, leaving the vestibule behind all but empty.

“Well, that was simply marvellous!”

Lahara turned, spotting Dorian approach. He gave a slow clap of approval, his eyes filled with admiration.

“Eh, just a little trick I picked up in the Circle,” Lahara shrugged. “Never thought it would come in handy.”

“Perhaps, but it’s really worked wonders,” Dorian answered. “You had the attention of everyone in the room, and it let our ambassador and spymaster do their handiwork. And I don’t know what they’ve been saying, but the nobles are marching out in droves.”

“That’s great and all, but it still wasn’t enough to convince Celene,” Lahara said. “I think she knows what’s going down, though. From the sounds of it, she’s got her own plan. She’s just waiting for Gaspard to make the first move.”

“Of course.” Dorian rolled his eyes. “Well, he can’t hold out too much longer, so…”

“Hey, ‘quissie!”

Both Dorian and Lahara glanced up. The Herald scanned the crowd, when a hand waved at her. Sera was making her way towards them, and her expression didn’t fill Lahara with confidence.

“Didn’t know you were such a show-off,” the elf said, blowing her hair out of her eyes. “But Briala’s being a bitch.”

“Oh?” Lahara raised a brow.

“She won’t pull out her spies, even with Geraint backing me up,” Sera scoffed. “Maybe if you slapped her up a bit, she’d listen better?”

Lahara held a hand to her forehead, groaning. Maker, this was hard enough without that woman digging her heels in as well.

“Alright, thanks for letting me know,” she said. “I’ll go knock some sense into her. You’d better get clear with everyone else.”

“Pfft, yeah right.” Sera folded her arms. “I’m coming with. Got to make sure you don’t ditch out last second, yeah?”

“As you say,” Lahara shrugged. “Dorian?”

“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away,” Dorian chuckled. “Besides, a bit of extra firepower at your side wouldn’t hurt, no?”

“Not at all,” Lahara said. “Let’s move.”

They took after Sera towards the servant’s quarters. Now Lahara could see a true exodus fighting to leave; she would have to find out exactly what Leliana and Josephine had let spread to make it happen so fast.

They wove between the departing nobles, trying not to look too suspicious, when the Herald caught sight of Cassandra. She stood to attention as they neared, her jaw set.

“Is there a problem?” the Seeker asked. “The nobles seem to be leaving amicably, and many are taking their servants.”

“Yes, but Briala’s being stubborn,” Lahara informed her. “We might need to soften her up a little.”

“Ugh, typical,” Cassandra grumbled. “Then I will also accompany you. I would not put it past her to lay a trap.”

“That, and I’m sure you’ve had enough noble small talk for the new few centuries,” Dorian chortled.

Laughing, Lahara took the lead, pushing through into the servant’s wing once more. Almost immediately her left hand buzzed, and she flinched, sparks of green emanating beneath her glove.

“Uh oh…” She exchanged a glance with Dorian. “Come on!”

She broke into a run, dashing past the corridors and into the courtyard again. The door to the guest wing was wide open, and lined with a fresh blood trail.

“That wasn’t there just now,” Sera blurted, nocking an arrow. “Andraste’s tits, what’s going on?!”

Lahara clenched her teeth, and she bolted straight through. The trail took them to the portico surrounding the garden, and that was when she was half-blinded by jade light.

Swearing, Lahara stumbled, brushing tears from her startled eyes. Even then, there was no mistaking the Fade rift hanging above. Below it stood scores of archers, their bows primed at her. Lahara snarled, her fists clenched. Her gaze fell to the overlooking balcony, where a masked figure paced. At her feet lay an unconscious elf woman with red hair, a bloodied knife planted in her palm.

But it was the shadow behind the masked woman that made the hair on the back of Lahara’s neck stand on end.

_No way…_

_A dust monster?!_

“Ah, there you are,” Florianne smirked, resting her hands on the railing. “You certainly took your time, Inquisitor. Although I hear your performance was not to be missed.”

“I put on a good show when I want,” Lahara shot back, her eyes never leaving the creature of mist. “What have you done to Briala?”

“Nothing she would not have done to me first,” Florianne scoffed, kicking the elf’s side. “Still, she played her part well, believing Gaspard was using our red lyrium to empower his soldiers, and thus she kept everyone’s eyes off me.” She gloated. “I must also thank you, too, for discovering a fresh feeding source for my pet.” Her gaze darkened. “Once you are out of the picture, it will feast like never before, then unleash its true strength upon Halamshiral!”

“You think I’ll just roll over and let you get away with it?” Lahara snapped. “You have no idea how powerful Corruption is, Florianne; you go anywhere near it, and you’ll kill everyone in the Winter Palace, including yourself!”

“Bah, you think your pathetic tales frighten me?” Florianne spat. “You are weak, Inquisitor. Corypheus has given me mastery of his greatest power, and you cannot stop me using it to its full potential!” She pulled a potion from her gown, its contents glowing red. “Once I break into that chamber, your fate will be sealed, and Orlais will bow to its new master!”

“Florianne, _listen to me_!” Lahara barked. “Whatever Corypheus said, you can’t control Corruption, not even with a dust monster!” Her Shard burned, and she held up her hands. “I’ll even give myself up as your prisoner, just don’t…”

“I will not cow to your fear-mongering!” Florianne shot back. The dust monster growled, and her eyes flared. “Once this beast has had its fill, the Empress will die, and Orlais will enter a new age of prosperity, with me at its helm! Your life is forfeit, regardless!” She beckoned to the archers, leading the creature away. “Kill her, and bring the marked hand as proof.”

“ _Florianne, stop!”_

Lahara made to chase, but the rift shuddered, sending thundering pain through her left hand. She hissed, and the archers fired. Dorian was quicker, however, and his barrier sprang up, deflecting the arrows.

“Come back for the rift!” he shouted, charging another spell. “You can’t let Florianne break into that chamber!”

Lahara bit her lip, hesitant. That was all well and good, but if she didn’t close the rift, the demons would just keep coming…

“We can handle this for now!” Cassandra roared, as if reading her thoughts. “There’s no time, go!”

Cursing, Lahara sprinted. She thrust her hands down, summoning a gust of wind, and the force propelled her skywards. It carried her over the balcony rail, and she skidded across the tiles. Briala moaned softly; she was still breathing. Lahara ignored her, bolting after the Duchess’s gown that fluttered around the corner. The rift rippled behind her, making her mark throb, and she grimaced. She’d come back; she couldn’t let Florianne get to the ruins!

An arrow sailed past her shoulder, and another almost tripped her. Lahara glanced aside, catching another archer on the rooftops. Yelling, she flung out a lance of ice. It hit the roof slate, instantly freezing the entire thing over, and the archer screamed, slipping and falling to her death. Lahara’s Shard shrieked, and she cradled it against her chest, still running.

_Why does it always hurt like that…_

She rounded the next corner, catching the dust monster escaping into the upper floor of the guest wing. The door slammed shut, but the Herald kept running. A quick fireball smashed the adjoining window, and Lahara leapt through, shaking glass shards off her shoulders. Florianne was still just out of reach, fleeing down the stairs.

“ _Get back here_!” Lahara bawled, shooting lightning from her fingertips. The blast singed the wall, only just missing its target. Lahara swore, forcing herself to run faster. She all but slid down the stairwell edge, but when she hit the bottom, an iron grip snatched her throat. Choking, she grappled at the claws at her neck, staring into the eyeless visage of the dust monster. It roared, throwing her into the wall, and Lahara groaned, stars flying across her vision.

“Kill her!” Florianne boomed. The creature rumbled, striking Lahara in the stomach, and she slammed into the floor. Pain screamed through the back of her head and thigh, and she caught its claws with her hands, inches away from her chest.

A boisterous yell echoed through, and suddenly the pressure on her torso vanished. The dust monster howled, crushed against the opposite wall, and Lahara caught the gleam of an axe.

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun!” Iron Bull jeered, carving another blow into the creature. It staggered back, trying to reform itself, and he struck again, ripping a hole into its side.

“Are you alright?” Solas’s hand came to her shoulder, and he helped her to her feet. Lahara coughed, wiping her bloodied lip.

“I…will be,” she puffed, her eyes narrowing. “Bull, let me…finish it off!”

“All yours, Boss!”

Iron Bull tossed the dust monster into the centre of the room, and Lahara lunged. Her Shard exploded, and she rammed her fingers through its chest, seeking the red lyrium core. It came into her palm, and she yanked it free, crushing it in a burst of brilliance. The beast whined, collapsing into dust, and Lahara grinned, shaking her hand clean.

It was over.

“Give up, your Grace.” She strode towards the cowering Duchess, her right hand charged. “Before I have to make a _real_ mess.”

“No!” Florianne shrieked, shrinking against the wall. “I will not lose! I will summon another!”

She scrambled for the vial of red liquid, raising it above her head.

“No, _stop_!” Lahara sprawled for the bottle, but she was too slow. The vial smashed into the floor, and the tiles exploded. Lahara was thrown back, pieces of flooring, red lyrium and glass showering around her. The ground trembled, and the ceiling groaned, hailing dust and splinters. As the blast cloud cleared, it was rapidly replaced by black mist. It bubbled up through the cracks, corroding the stone like boiling acid, and the floor started to melt.

“What?” Florianne stared, horror spreading across her features. “This cannot…he said it would…!”

“ _You sodding idiot!”_ Lahara screeched. She made for the Duchess, blood-lust in her eyes, but the tiles gave way, pushing her back. The Corruption swept into the gap, engulfing the ground beneath Florianne, and she screamed, snatched into the darkness.

“We cannot stay here!” Solas declared, pulling Lahara from the widening edge.

“We can’t just leave it like this!” Lahara barked, shaking him off. “It’ll swallow _everything_!”

“If we hang around, it’s gonna swallow us, first!” Iron Bull broke in. “We’re getting out, now!”

He grabbed Lahara’s sash, dragging her behind him. Lahara staggered after, forced to watch the Corruption fizz and ripple, dissolving everything it touched. It was spreading at an uncontrollable rate, like fire through parchment, and nausea bubbled in Lahara’s stomach. Her Shard flickered, aching all the way up her arm, and she dug her fingers into her palm.

_I have to **do** something!_

Iron Bull broke the doorway ahead, which brought them back to the garden. The rift was still there, shimmering and spawning endless ranks of demons. Dorian, Cassandra and Sera were backed into separate corners, wounded and losing ground.

“Cavalry’s here!” Iron Bull boomed, charging for the nearest Rage demon. Solas followed suit, throwing a stun spell over the Despair demons, allowing the others to regroup. Lahara however was staring at the rift, an idea starting to form. It would be a long shot, but right now she needed _anything_ to try and stop the oncoming disaster.

She joined the battle, blasting through the remaining demons, and her left hand flared. The rift jittered, responding to her mark.

“Seal it!” Solas cried.

Lahara grunted, casting an eye back to the lower guest wing. The cloud of Corruption had almost caught up to them, eating through everything in its path.

“What are you waiting for?” Dorian blurted; the rift was shedding crystals, close to breaking open once more.

“The guest…of honour,” Lahara gasped, raising her left hand towards the rift. At the same time, she stretched her right hand to the wave of mist that was almost upon them. The Shard and rift mark came to life together, and she reached deep into her power, forcing the opposing energies to come together. The rift split apart, becoming a yawning chasm, and the black mist flooded straight into it.

“Lara!” Solas’s eyes widened. “You can’t…not into the Fade!”

“What are you…” Cassandra stopped short, her eyes bulging. “Maker above, that stupid, stupid woman, she didn’t…”

Lahara suddenly screamed, falling to her knees. White-hot pain blazed through every vein, and her skull was a rippling cacophony of agony. Bile shot to her throat, and she was violently sick, unable to withstand the magic setting her blood on fire.

“Lara, you can’t use the marks like this!” Solas shouted, pinning her left arm down. “They’re tearing your body apart!”

Lahara could only whimper, catching herself on her hands. Her Shard fell silent, and the rift above crackled. Jaw tense, Solas jerked her left hand upwards, and the rift mark flared, closing the tear in a dazzle of emerald light. It vanished, but the surge of Corruption remained, it progress redirected.

“Time to go!” Dorian ran to Lahara’s side, and between him and Solas, they draped her arms over their shoulders. Lahara was too groggy to protest, managing to stumble away with their support. They hurried back to the ballroom, the quakes growing stronger and stronger. Fissures were spreading through the walls, sending the roof tiles sliding and stairwells crumbling. Eventually the pillars gave way, submitting to the unstoppable force.

The group burst back into the vestibule, which was filled with frantic screaming and panicked guests still trying to flee. It was enough to snap Lahara back to full consciousness, and she pulled free of her companions, her heart in her stomach. The black mist was _everywhere_ , and nothing was spared its wrath.

“Everyone, quickly!” Cullen was waiting by the main entrance, keeping the doors propped open. His brow was soaked, caked in dust, and there was blood on his uniform, too.

Iron Bull charged, catching a chunk of ceiling before it would block the way, and ushered the rest of the group out. Cassandra was out first, Dorian and Solas at her heels, and Sera and Lahara were right behind them. Angry tears burned Lahara’s eyes, and she wanted to scream to the heavens.

_This couldn’t be happening!_

Lahara stopped by the waiting carriages, puffing, her collar aglow. A soldier took her wrist, drawing her towards it, but she yanked her hand free.

“Not yet,” she said. “Is everyone accounted for?!”

“I…I think…” Cullen wheezed, holding a hand to his chest, “Leliana…Josephine…still inside…”

Ice flooded Lahara’s chest, and she grabbed the Commander’s lapels.

“ _Then_ _you_ _get back in there right now and drag them out!”_ she screamed.

“Herald…I…”

“I will go,” Cassandra declared, discarding her weapons. “Where did you see them last?”

“Main…ballroom,” Cullen panted. “But the palace…the Corruption will…”

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll buy her time!” Lahara proclaimed, adrenaline drowning her fatigue. “I swear by everything that’s holy, you’ll be absolutely fine, Cassie, just _go get them, go, go!_ ”

Cassandra nodded. Clenching her jaw, she sprinted back through the gates, into the collapsing palace.

Lahara spat the pooled saliva in her mouth, rushing towards the sinking east wall. Exhausted or not, she had to make this count. Yelling, she held out her hands, the mana burning her fingertips. The charge gathered, pulsing between her rift mark and Shard, and then she slammed her palms against the marble. A surge of lightning ripped through the stone, and the Winter Palace groaned, every crack set ablaze as it was forced to resist the impossible pull.

“Maker…that’s…heavy!” Lahara gasped, her muscles shrieking. Her knees started to buckle, every bone in her body wanting to crumble, and she braced her feet apart, desperate to hold the palace up. The drag of Corruption was unforgiving, and Lahara bit her lip, digging into the belly of the earth for strength. The marble crumpled, tearing through skin, and blood started to stream down her wrists.

“Herald!” Cullen spluttered, reaching for her. “You…can’t…”

“Let me help!” Dorian bolted, clasping both of Lahara’s shoulders, and a flood of warmth flew into her Shard. He was giving her all of his remaining mana. Solas quickly cottoned on, and he too joined her, offering his own magic. They were like drops in the ocean, and Lahara gritted her teeth, her arms shaking from the strain. The Corruption was draining her; sooner or later she’d lose her ability to cast anything.

“Come…on…Cassie…” she grunted, soaked in sweat, her spine stretched to breaking point. She couldn’t hold this for much longer.

_No…_

_I can’t let them die!_

The seconds burned to painful minutes, and Lahara’s vision began to swim. Yet before the darkness claimed her, thunder broke from the palace entrance. Cassandra snarled, kicking through the mangled gate. An unconscious Leliana was in her arms, and Josephine was draped on her shoulders, clinging on for dear life.

The Seeker tore across the courtyard, her hair and uniform caked in dust and blood.

“We’re out, _get clear_!” she hollered.

“Lara, come on!” Dorian said, tugging at her shoulders.

“Just…a little…longer…” Lahara choked, her lyrium collar tightening around her neck. She was using too much mana, but she had to make sure the Inquisition could get out of the fallout zone.

“Inquisitor, you can do no more!” Solas roared. “We cannot save everyone!”

“…but…”

“Boss, that’s enough, we’re going, _now_!”

Before she could protest, Iron Bull’s arms circled her waist, and he yanked her away. Lahara howled, the skin of her palms ripped clean off, her rift mark and Shard blazing like miniature suns. The heat was agony, as if she’d submerged her hands in acid, and the Winter Palace rumbled, unable to withstand the all-consuming Corruption.

Iron Bull grunted, sprinting across the grassy slopes. He didn’t slow, even when the explosion of dust and debris caught up to them. Bracing Lahara against his chest, he tucked his head down, running blind through the endless cloud. Lahara coughed, the particles catching her scorched throat. Grit and sand blinded her, and she could only whimper, the heavy thuds of Iron Bull’s footfalls the only thing keeping her awake.

Finally the open sky returned, and Iron Bull’s wheezes filled air. Lahara felt grass tickle the back of her neck as she was laid down. Iron Bull was gasping, pouring sweat as he collapsed beside her.

“Lara!” Josephine’s voice, and a warm hand gripped her. “Lara, are you alright?!”

Lahara tried to speak, but she was caught by another fierce coughing fit. Josephine hauled her upright, letting the Herald lean against her as she spluttered and retched.

A horrible taste filled Lahara’s mouth, and she doubled over. Her stomach clenched, and she heaved, fresh blood spilling from her lips. Her Shard was screaming, as if a thousand burning stakes had ploughed into it, and her shaking was uncontrollable. She dug her fingers into the grass, trying to keep her eyes open, when the last of her strength finally left her.

Someone called her name again, and she fell into nothingness.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last cut-away jump now, aren’t you all glad, but what’s in store for poor Elissa…
> 
> Apologies, the pacing’s gotten out of hand and my interest in this story is waning hard, hope it doesn’t show too much.

 

Elissa could only stare, frozen in horror. Her mind was screaming, telling her she’d misheard, but there was no mistaking the amber gaze that pierced into her soul, nor that unsettling nickname.

“Fle…meth?” she croaked, blinking back tears. “What…how…”

‘Megara’ merely chuckled, tearing her hand from Elissa’s face. Elissa hissed, the woman’s nails leaving marks. She tried to raise her head again, but the pain was too much, so she was resigned to staring at the floor. Her entire body shook, and her nausea was back in full force.

_What the hell was going on?_

“I have waited for this moment for far, far too long,” Megara said, pacing the floor. “But I must admit, each setback has been worth it, for it has greatly increased my chances of success.” She slipped the amethyst necklace into her palm, letting it dangle freely. She brought it close to Elissa’s Shard, and Elissa winced, the rune burning beneath her skin. “Now I have almost all the pieces, the time of Etro’s rebirth will be upon us, and the Maker’s foolish transgression will finally be undone.”

The name sent a shiver down Elissa’s spine. She groaned, clenching her fists.

“Let…me…go…” she whispered.

Megara smirked.

“Come now, is that any way to show your gratitude, after all I have done for you?” She licked her lips. “You should have known there would be a payment for my generosity over the years.” A sigh escaped her, and a flicker of remorse crossed her features. “Would I wish it were another way, Sixteen, alas I cannot delay any longer. The board has been tilted, and if I do not intervene, all that has been fought for will be for nought.”

She ripped open Elissa’s collar, exposing the Shard completely. The Cousland ring nestled just above it, glinting in the rune’s soft light. Elissa shivered, the memory of her reunion with Leliana prickling. Megara ignored her, brows narrowed.

“Generation after generation I watched failure after failure, every vessel destroyed by the very soul they sought to house,” she said. “You would have been no different, had I not acted, and your friends not interfered at the moment of transference.” She fingered the necklace chain. “A mortal cannot host the essence of the divine, but this accident gave me the chance I needed. And so, here we are.” Her eyes glinted. “You are dying, Sixteen. I bought what time I could, but the Shards are a poison, and it will not be long before they claim your so-called Champion and presumptuous Herald, as well. But Etro’s power cannot be lost again. It must go to a vessel that can endure; one who was born with the soul of an old god himself!”

The amethyst burst into light, and Megara forced it against Elissa’s skin. The effect was instant, and Elissa screamed, writhing in her chains. The metal cut into her wrists, leaving bleeding welts, but that was nothing to the inferno in her chest. Every fibre of muscle and sinew and bone was on fire, squeezing all the breath from her lungs and draining her sight and strength. The chamber blurred, turning into hazy darkness, and something cold wrapped around her. The tendrils spread, gripping her in a deadly embrace, and she howled, suffocating, blind.

Suddenly the chamber snapped into focus, and Elissa spluttered, as if she’d been underwater. She could taste blood in her mouth, and her ribs and back were aching something fierce. Each breath sent shudders through her, and she couldn’t stop trembling.

Megara murmured to herself, pulling the amethyst to her palm.

“Ah,” she mused. “It seems Andraste’s blood tie is powerful, indeed.”

She turned to her acolytes, chewing her lip. Her gaze darkened, and she abruptly grabbed one by the neck. The woman gasped, struggling, when Megara activated the amulet again, and she fell limp. The other mages tensed, watching fearfully as Megara held up her lifeless body.

“Her sacrifice will not be in vain,” Megara announced, “for every soul is eternal. She will merely be reborn when the final bells come to toll.”

With those words, she tore into the woman’s belly, and blood poured freely between her fingers. The crimson splatter became the colour of lyrium, and the amethyst flared. Elissa screeched, the surge turning her Shard into a venomous flood. She strained in her chains again, desperate to claw the rune off, bile pooling in her mouth.

_Make…it…stop!_

At last contact broke, and Elissa threw up. The coppery scent on her breath was permanent now, and her stomach was in twisted knots. The respite was extremely short-lived, however, as the amethyst was shoved against her again. It threw Elissa into darkness, silencing all senses but the screaming, bleeding agony that drowned her heartbeat into nothing.

Flashes crossed her vision, trying to pull her into the unknown, but just before blissful unconsciousness hit, the burning pressure vanished. Prickles of after-pain spread, and her head was forced up again, jarred to wakefulness. Megara’s face was a blur, and Elissa heaved, her throat tight.

“You will not let go so easily, will you?” Megara’s voice was mocking. “Then you shall just have to _remember_ …”

“Lady Megara!” A startled shout broke through. “The witch, she’s returned, and she’s…”

The rest of the warning ended in a strangled shriek. Megara tensed, releasing Elissa and glancing back. Elissa groaned, her Shard irritated by the mana in the air. Weakly she raised her head, catching sparks of fire and thunder flying across the chamber. Then the ground yawned, charged with an inescapable force, and the screams and yelps heightened.

“Elissa!” Bethany cried. “We’re here!”

Her force-spell brought yet more cultists down, and Megara clenched her jaw, seemingly unaffected.

“I think that’s quite enough, _children_.”

Megara flung up her hands, and all magic was abruptly dispelled. Most of the cultists lay on the floor, dead, and in the centre stood Bethany and Morrigan. At once they charged, staffs ablaze, when Megara snapped her fingers. A barrier appeared around her, and Bethany and Morrigan broke apart, narrowly avoiding it.

The rune rippled in the emptiness, and Megara tapped it with a finger. The barrier shattered, its fragments morphing into gleaming arrows, and they shot for the two mages. Bethany tried to counter, but the energy snared her wrists and ankles, and she cried out, falling. Morrigan hissed, destroying one set, alas the other bound her hands behind her back. Her staff clattered uselessly, and she dropped to her knees.

Megara’s lip curled. She surveyed them, folding her arms.

“Were you never told not to interrupt your elders?” She strode forward, raising her left arm. Bethany and Morrigan grimaced, the shackles of mana forcing them upright. Megara scoffed, waving her wrist, and they both slammed into the wall, trapped by an unseen force.

“What madness…is this…” Morrigan gasped, struggling to break free. “How…”

“Madness, indeed,” Megara smirked. “I did not expect you to return once Kieran was safe. It seems the years have softened you much, Morrigan.”

The blood drained from Morrigan’s face.

“No.” Her amber eyes went wild. “It cannot…I refuse to believe…not _you_!”

“Hmph, you sound so thrilled to see me again,” Megara snorted. “You played your part perfectly, child, until the very last act. I would have even let you get away with it, would the circumstances have allowed it.”

“I will not let you touch Kieran again!” Morrigan rumbled. “You will not defile him as you did to me!”

Megara smiled.

“What I have planned for my dear grandson is nothing what you assume.” She turned back to Elissa, and Elissa’s chest tightened. She struggled, pleading with the Maker to let her chains break.

_No, not again!_

“I _will_ have Kieran at my side once more,” Megara stated, twirling the amethyst necklace. “But first, I require a Shard to give to him.”

“No,” Elissa rasped, “no, not again, please, NO!”

The amethyst rammed into the rune, igniting it all over again, and Elissa screamed. The tendrils returned thick and fast, dragging her into the abyss, but once more, as she almost sank into nothingness, the amethyst was removed. Two breaths later it was back, the howling agony set afresh. The cycle repeated; twice, three times, five times, and Elissa lost herself, caught in an endless twilight of pain and fire and darkness.

“Remember!” Megara boomed. “Remember your final moments!”

Another shriek was torn from Elissa’s lips, and her vision unfocused. Soft whispers began to drift, and she whimpered. Her breaths were starting to slow, her heart overwhelmed.

“Stop, stop!” Bethany wailed, her eyes streaming. “ _Stop hurting her_!”

Megara withdrew her hand again, and Elissa slumped in her chains, choking out a mouthful of blood. Every muscle was shaking, and she could no longer move of her own accord. Sweat and grit and dust plastered her skin and hair, and her insides churned, begging for relief. Her thoughts were tangled, a mismatch between past and present.

_Who…are you…_

“You are making this harder than it needs to be, Sixteen,” Megara said. “If you will not accept who you were—who you _are_ —it is going to kill you.”

Elissa groaned. Her Shard was a scorched mess; a brand that would never cool. Yet even as she fought for breath, her entire body a symphony of pain, it was Bethany’s sobbing that hurt her more. It wasn’t fair she had to watch this.

_But…what…am I…supposed…to remember?_

“Please, please just stop,” Bethany begged, “she…she can’t take much more…”

Megara chuckled.

“You hear your friend, do you not, Sixteen?” she goaded. “You wound her as much as I do. You can end this, for all of us. Let the pain release you, and _remember_! _”_

She plunged the amethyst to the rune once more, and Elissa jerked, fighting an invisible enemy. Pained grunts escaped her—all her breathless lungs could manage—and the chains cut deeper. It was almost familiar, and she flinched, her body recalling a forgotten memory. But before it took hold, the shadows crept back, and Elissa strained for their cold embrace.

And yet again, she was denied.

_Maker…_

_Let…me…sleep…_

“You’ll kill her!” Bethany shrieked. “Stop it right now!”

Her cry hung in the air, and Megara stilled. Elissa felt the woman’s amber eyes watching, her chest a tight bundle of painful rasps.

“Hmm, it seems you might be right,” Megara said at last. “You had best get healing then, young mage, in case I accidentally _do_ kill her.”

She snapped her fingers, and Bethany fell from the wall. She caught herself on her hands and knees, her ankle bindings broken, although her wrists remained tethered. Without hesitation she stumbled towards Elissa, reaching out and touching her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” Bethany mumbled, bringing their brows together, her face soaked in tears. “I’m so sorry, Elissa!”

Elissa couldn’t respond, but the mage’s warmth and the pain of her words struck right to her core. Soon the soothing balm of healing magic washed over, banishing the rawness in her throat, but it did nothing for the ache in her chest. If anything it provoked her Shard further, and she recoiled, her nausea rising again. Bethany sobbed, and then the mage’s hold left her. A colder, harsher touch replaced it, and Elissa shuddered.

“You show far more resilience than your predecessors, Sixteen,” Megara said, pressing the edge of her thumbnail into Elissa’s chin. “But perhaps I should not be too surprised.” She let Elissa’s head drop. “After all, you weathered the loss of your family so well, once I convinced Rendon Howe to slaughter them.”

That almost-forgotten name set something off, and Elissa found the strength to open her eyes.

“What…did you…say?”

Megara chortled.

“Oh, I thought that might catch your interest.” Her eyes glimmered, like a cat about to devour a mouse. “You think that fool attacked the Couslands of his own volition? Even his petty jealousies weren’t worth that.” She rested her hands on her hips. “No, Sixteen, that idea was planted by _me_. A few whispers here and there, a mere suggestion at the edges of his mind, and that was all it took. The promise of power is enough to send anyone astray. And he went above and beyond what I desired.”

Elissa suddenly snapped her head up, a slumbering anger stirring.

_She…what?_

_…she **can’t** have…_

“They all had to die, Elissa,” Megara went on. “It was the only way to ensure you became a Grey Warden, to protect you and give me the time I needed to prepare for this day. To ensure Etro’s resurrection.”

Elissa stopped listening. A new pain had taken over, let loose as old wounds untouched for so long were now ripped afresh. The blood-rage was pouring, an endless tide that could not be stemmed, and she couldn’t surface.

“You…”

_You…_

_You…killed them…_

_My family…my home…my life…_

_Everything I had to endure…_

_Because of **you?!**_

“The poor man admired Bryce so much,” Megara said, glancing at her fingernails. “But respect cannot trump envy. And with the right words, he was but clay in my hands…”

“I’ll kill you! _”_ Elissa thrashed in her chains with newfound strength. “I’ll kill you _, I’ll kill you!”_

The words became a mantra, breaking away seals she had never known existed. Nothing mattered anymore; not the cuts at her wrists, the burning in her chest, the stinging magic still ringing through her bones. All she knew was the bubbling maelstrom, of heat and rage and wildfire and loathing that was taking over every part of her.

_I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you…_

**_I’ll_ ** _**kill you!**_

The world turned black, but it did nothing to lessen Elissa’s screaming. The boiling ocean had finally erupted, like the Waking Sea in a raging storm. The chamber disappeared, shifting into a starless night sky. The air became cold and raw, but Elissa barely noticed. Her Shard was nothing but brilliant agony, setting her blood blazing, and a bone-chilling howl burst from her lungs.

* * *

 

_An empty sky hangs above my shattered throne. The crystal of shadows—the source of my power—has been devastated. It will never know brightness again. Warmth pours from my chest, and I grasp the gaping wound. A spear of light pierces, my hands welling with spilled brilliance. So blinding, burning; a poison destroying all I ever will be._

_“What have you done?!” A scream bursts from my lips. “You promised…you would not…”_

_His laughter is cold, mocking. It ignites sorrow, pain and rage—the last things I will ever feel._

_This cannot be, it cannot be…_

_I will **never** forgive you for this!_

_“You have doomed every soul forever, Maker of all things!”_

_The darkness deepens, stealing my final breaths, and at last my tears escape._

* * *

 

_“And they will take all of your creation with them!”_

The screech exploded from Elissa’s throat; a voice that was not hers, yet could only _be_ hers. She snatched the chains suspending her, and black coldness poured from her palms. The choking mist wrapping around the links, and they instantly melted.

Elissa yanked herself free, the shackles falling apart as she dropped to the ground. She snapped her head back, another roar escaping her, and she bolted for Megara.

_I’ll kill you **all**!_

“And there she is, at long, long last!” Megara gloated, meeting Elissa’s charge. She caught her wrists, and Elissa hissed, frothing saliva pooling at her lips. “Welcome back, Etro!”

Elissa howled, and she kicked Megara away. As they broke contact, she threw out her hand, and a lance of shadow burst from her fingertips. It missed its mark, but when it struck the floor, the stone dissolved. Bethany gasped, her bonds vanishing, and she stumbled in retreat. The mist kept spreading, eating the tiles away, and Morrigan tore free from the wall, her own bindings dissipating.

Snarling, Elissa continued her assault, unleashing spear after spear at Megara. The woman kept dodging, flashing an almost teasing smile as she escaped into the hallway beyond. The Corruption however lingered, streaming through the bricks and pillars like a forest fire untamed.

“Elissa, stop!” Morrigan yelled. “You’ll destroy everything!”

Whirling around, Elissa flung another lance, right at Morrigan. The apostate dived, just missing its edge as it struck the wall. But by then Elissa was gone, charging out of the chamber, hungering for Megara’s blood.

_Kill her…_

_Kill them…_

**_Kill them all!_ **

She caught Megara turning a corner, and she hurled another spear. The mist burned through the stone, unchecked, and exposing the woman’s retreat. Elissa tore after her, ripping through anything that lay in her path. Tree roots, fallen rafters, stone and sand; nothing could escape the wrath of Corruption. Savage rumbling shook the ruins, and pieces of ceiling began to collapse as the walls disappeared beneath the onslaught of darkness.

The doors to the Eluvian chamber were open, and Megara sped inside. Elissa sprinted, an inhuman roar breaking from her lips. As Megara’s foot disappeared through the swirling vortex, Elissa plunged straight after, emerging back at the Crossroads.

She hit the ground running, making for Megara who was just about to reach another Eluvian. Her hand touched the glass, yet before the spell activated, a Corruption spear plunged into it. The mirror exploded into dust shards, and Megara was forced to take cover in the ruins.

“Elissa!” Alistair shot to his feet, keeping a hand on Kieran’s shoulder. “What in the Maker’s name...?!”

Elissa spun towards him, growling. Swirling mist gathered about her hand, and she threw it at them.

“Whoa!” Alistair dived, cradling Kieran as the spear slammed into the archway above. “Elissa, what’s gotten into you?!”

“She cannot hear you any longer,” Megara said, unseen in the undulating mist. “She has finally remembered who she is!”

Alistair’s gaze darkened.

“You did this to her?!” He pushed Kieran behind him, drawing his sword. “Snap her out of it, right now!”

Megara’s reply was silenced as Elissa shot into the ruins, both palms brimming with black mist. Twin bolts of Corruption broke free, like snakes ravenous for prey. One skimmed Megara’s arm, tearing her robe, while the other smacked into the Eluvian behind her. It cracked the glass, bouncing and ricocheting off a crumbling bridge back to the ground. Alistair rolled in mid-charge, the mist close enough to touch. It clipped his sword, and the blade melted to the hilt. Cursing, Alistair threw it aside, when Kieran suddenly yelped.

“Kieran!” Morrigan shrieked; she had emerged from the Eluvian, and was bolting towards her son. Kieran tried to run as well, but the Corruption was sweeping around him, trapping him against an Eluvian that rested against a stone tower. Yet even that was starting to sink as the mist devoured the ground—an inescapable abyss. Morrigan clenched her teeth, unable to cross the widening chasm.

“Damn it!” Alistair dashed to the tower, immediately scaling it. Once at the top, he cautiously pressed himself to the edge, stretching out his hand. “Kieran, I’m here!”

Kieran shuffled against the tower, climbing onto the Eluvian for extra height. The tiles slowly crumbled into nothingness, and he slipped, almost losing his footing. Somehow he managed to cling on, and he strained, his fingers almost interlacing with Alistair’s.

However, that was when Elissa bellowed. Another burst of mist shot from her hand, and it struck the Eluvian. The mirror exploded, and Kieran screamed, jerked away.

“ _Kieran_!” Alistair and Morrigan bawled in unison.

Time seemed to stand still, and they could only stare, helpless as Kieran plummeted into the mist. For a long, long moment, silence reigned, Morrigan’s tears frozen on her face.

Then a sudden roar rocked the Crossroads, causing several more Eluvians to shatter. A chilling gale hit, strong enough to displace the Corruption and revealing Kieran’s unconscious form. Next a giant pair of talons snatched him up, and the dragon rumbled, its amber eyes furious. It glared at Elissa, shooting a wave of fire, before it beat its wings and took off, towards the last remaining Eluvian.

“ _No_!” Morrigan took chase, broken from her stupor, but she had no hope to catch the beast. The portal crackled to life, and the dragon dived through with its charge. Morrigan kept running, even as the magic rapidly disintegrated. Just as the iridescent sheen almost disappeared, her hand plunged inside, and she renewed the spell. Her momentum carried her straight through, and the Eluvian shimmered, held open from the other side.

Elissa howled, charging for the mirror, but strong arms gripped her waist. She fell to the ground face-first, and something heavy pinned down her back and legs.

“Elissa, stop!” Alistair dug his palms into her wrists to stop her moving. “This isn’t you, I know it isn’t!” Tears spilled down his cheeks, and he bit back a sob. “Come back, come back to me!”

Elissa writhed, struggling with every part of her being. Eventually she got her leg free, and she rolled over, thrusting her knee into Alistair’s stomach. Alistair groaned, his grip loosened, and Elissa kicked him onto his back. Snarling, she latched her hand around his throat, more mist gathering in her free palm.

_I’ll destroy His entire Creation!_

But before she could strike, a bolt of pure ice-flame ripped into her back. It sank through skin, muscle and flesh, and a torrent of warmth trickled from the wound. Her arms fell limp, and she doubled over, her vision clouding.

“I’m so sorry, sis,” Bethany wept, her hands clasped around the dagger’s hilt. She pressed it deeper, and Elissa groaned. “Sleep…please…”

A gentle hand held her temple, and at long last, Elissa fell into the embrace of darkness.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sticking with Lara for now...

The creak of a door jolted Lahara from sleep. Her eyes opened, and at once she had to shut them again; the over-spilling daylight was too bright. She coughed, her throat parched, and made to sit up. Something held down her left arm, and she stopped, hissing as whatever it was caught on her elbow.

“Hey, keep still!” Eliza’s voice called from the darkness, and soon the healer’s hand was on Lahara’s shoulder. “Hang on a second, let me draw the blinds.”

Lahara nodded, sinking back onto her pillow. It was slightly damp; she must have been feverish. Her collar clicked, and she took slow, careful breaths. At least that seemed to be working, though it did little to compensate for the aches everywhere else. Drawing so deeply on her power had really knocked her for six.

Curiosity overcame her, and she traced her fingers over the tether around her arm. It felt warm, but it wasn’t metal or cord; some other material she couldn’t place.

She couldn’t examine for long, though, as chiding hands battered hers away.

“Maker’s breath, stop fiddling already!” Eliza scolded. “Alright, I’ve closed the blinds, see if that helps.”

Sighing, Lahara opened her eyes again. The semi-blackness was much more comfortable, and allowed her to solve the mystery about her arm. A needle had been placed in her vein, connected via reed tubing to a lyrium potion. The latter trickled directly into her bloodstream, leaving an odd tingling beneath her skin.

“What’s this?” Lahara carefully raised her arm, examining her rift mark. It was flickering, as did her the rune on her other hand, but their lightning-like pains had quieted to dull aches.

“Lyrium infusion,” Eliza explained, sitting beside Lahara. “Not something I’ve done before, but after your little stunt, you needed every drop you could get, and more.”

“Isn’t this dangerous?” Lahara asked.

“No more dangerous than taking it otherwise, for a mage,” Eliza answered. “Besides, even if you were conscious enough to drink it, the lyrium wouldn’t have gone in fast enough, you’ve been losing so much.”

“I see.” Lahara rubbed the back of her neck, her cheeks warm. Another close call; and it seemed it was taking less and less for her to end up like this. “Looks like you’ve performed another miracle, Eliza. Wouldn’t know where I’d be without you.”

Eliza’s smile faltered.

“Yeah, about that…”

She was interrupted as the door opened again, and a flash of lilac caught Lahara’s eye.

“Eliza,” Leliana began, “sorry to bother you, but my leg needs…” She stopped short, catching sight of the Herald sitting up. “Oh thank the Maker, Lara, you’re finally awake!”

She hobbled to the Herald’s bedside, coming to sit on the bed. Lahara noted a graze to her temple and a healing cut on her lip, yet otherwise she appeared no worse for wear.

“Forget me, you almost went down with the Winter Palace!” Lahara took the spymaster’s hand. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

“As I am for you,” Leliana answered. “Josephine and I owe you our lives.” She bowed her head, her eyes downcast. “Alas, many were not so fortunate.”

Lahara fell quiet, bunching her hands to fists. Even with her two close friends alive, it did not take away the true horror of the disaster that had befallen the Winter Palace.

“What’s the damage?” she asked softly.

Leliana let out a long breath.

“The palace has been completely destroyed,” she said, her voice heaving with sadness. “Most of our own forces made it out safely, and Empress Celene managed to escape as well, but I am yet to hear what happened to Gaspard or Briala. Orlais itself remains divided and in disarray, and many are pointing fingers at the Inquisition for the tragedy.”

The vein on Lahara’s temple bulged.

“It was _Florianne’s_ _fault_!” She slammed her fist against the bed. “I warned her, I even destroyed her dust monster, had her trapped in a corner, and she _still...!_ ”

“We know, Lara,” Leliana cut in. “Iron Bull and Solas have said as much already. Fortunately, we did win the favour of several nobles whom we helped evacuate, and Josephine is using our connections to our advantage.”

“And what about the Corruption itself?” Lahara pressed. “It must’ve spread everywhere by now.”

“For some reason, it has not,” Leliana answered. “It remains buried under the rubble, and the surrounding plain is still unblemished. Dorian and Solas are investigating, though they have not had much to report so far. Either way, Celene has ordered a complete withdrawal from the area, and has left it in our hands, so we can be thankful for that, at least.”

“Yeah,” Lahara muttered, closing her eyes. For all the struggles the Inquisition had faced, this was their first real failure, and it hurt, deeply. Especially when she had been a hair’s breadth from preventing it all.

“Lahara.” Leliana rested her hand on the Herald’s shoulder. “I know you feel you are to blame for this, but...”

“I _am_ to blame, Leliana!” Lahara shook off her hand. “I was too slow, not ruthless enough!” She clenched her fist. “If I’d just _killed_ Florianne outright...”

“If that is the case, then just as much blame rests with me,” Leliana countered. “I had spies trained on her, and I should not have waited for more proof before acting. Had I not hesitated...” She sighed, trailing off. “Even now I cannot truly believe it. All the lives lost, the centuries of Orlesian culture and history, wiped clean as if none of it had ever been.” She swallowed. “Even if it did stand for many injustices as well, it is still hard to acknowledge it is gone forever.”

“It was a place close to your heart,” Lahara murmured. “I’m sorry.”

Leliana closed her eyes.

“It...held many memories for me,” she admitted. “It is like losing an old friend, someone familiar and cherished whom you never thought you could lose one day.” Her cheeks became rosy. “I must sound like a fool, mourning the collapse of a building so.”

“It was Orlais’s seat of power, and home of its Court,” Lahara said. “It was always more than any building, Leliana.”

Leliana nodded slowly. Her eyes grew distant, and they spent a moment in silence. It was eventually broken by Lahara’s loud yawn, and she flushed, holding a hand to her mouth. Leliana’s gaze softened, and she rose, taking her crutch again.

“Forgive me, I should let you rest,” she said. “But I am glad you are on the mend.” She squeezed the Herald’s shoulder. “The sting of this will subside, and the Inquisition will bounce back. I know it.” She managed a smile. “Maker speed your recovery, Lara.”

She turned, making to walk away, when Lahara caught her wrist.

“Wait,” the Herald said, a sudden thought gripping her. “Just one more thing.” She licked her lips. “Have you heard anything from Bethany and the others?”

Leliana’s face became drawn once more.

“Nothing since we returned, no.” She fingered the Warden pendant around her neck. “The last I heard, Elissa was investigating a ruined village in southern Ferelden, but I have had no further updates.”

“Right.” Lahara released her, letting out a sigh. “You’ll tell me if you hear anything else?”

“Of course,” Leliana said. “You will be the first to know.”

She left the infirmary, and Lahara crumpled into her bed. She wasn’t sure why, but thinking of Bethany right now left her chest tight and pulse quivering. Her eyes fell to the rune on her hand, alas it gave away nothing. She could only pray that nothing ill had befallen its sister bearers.

“Herald.” Eliza prodded her shoulder, returned from checking her other patients. “I’m going to take this infusion down now, mind holding still a second?”

“Sure.” Lahara stretched out her arm, then glanced away. She didn’t really want to watch. The reed tubing jerked across her skin, and then she hissed as the needle was withdrawn, and hard pressure applied to the puncture.

“Hold this,” Eliza said, gesturing to the gauze above the Herald’s elbow. Lahara took over, flexing her fingers that had started to buzz with pins and needles. The Shard and rift mark fell silent, leaving her palms clammy, and she closed her eyes. Something about them seemed different somehow, but she couldn’t quite place what.

Eliza discarded the line and needle, before coming back to Lahara’s bedside.

“Bet that feels better, huh?” she smiled, applying a fresh bandage to the Herald’s arm.

“A little,” Lahara murmured, as Eliza placed the iasometer device to her other forearm.

“Well, according to this, I’d say a lot,” Eliza commented, checking the readings. “Your blood pressure’s come back up, and your pulse is good, too. Thank the Maker.”

“You really are a talented healer, Eliza,” Lahara said. “Thank you.”

“Eh, I’m not too talented.” Eliza removed the device, fiddling with it in her lap. “Listen Lara, this...well, _condition_ you have, it’s making me worry about you.”

“What do you mean?” Lahara asked.

“It’s those marks of yours,” Eliza answered. “That Shard especially laps up lyrium like a dwarf does ale, and it’s getting worse. If you don’t keep yourself topped up, it takes mana directly from your life-force, and that’s never a good thing.”

Lahara sat up straighter.  “Are you serious?”

“Afraid so,” Eliza said, still playing with the iasometer straps. “That’s why you’ve been unconscious for so long. You need to be really careful with your magic. Go over a certain limit, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to wake you up again.”

Lahara stared at the healer, then at the rune on her hand. No wonder she’d felt so drained lately, even before the collapse of the palace.

“So you’re saying I need to continually binge on lyrium to keep my Shard happy?”

“If you do that, you’ll just give yourself lyrium toxicity, the amount you’d have to drink,” Eliza said. “Infusions are safer as they avoid those side effects, but they’re not practical, as you can see. But I have something else that should help.”

She reached into her pocket, producing a silver bracelet. A ridge had been engraved into its centre, which held a few droplets of lyrium inside.

“I asked Dagna to make this,” she said, clasping it to Lahara’s wrist. “It’ll change colour from silver to gold, depending on how much magic you use. When it’s completely gold, you’ll have to stop casting, else you could drain your entire life-force and...” She hesitated. “...well, you know what happens then. Doesn’t solve the problem, I know, but until I can find a better fix, it’s all I can offer.”

“Uh huh.” Lahara brushed her fingers over the bracelet. The metal was cool against her skin, though swiftly warmed with her body heat. “I appreciate it, Eliza. I’m confident you’ll come up with something eventually.” She tapped her collar. “You found this, after all.”

“Let’s hope so,” Eliza said, putting aside her tools. “Now, you must be starving. Shall I get you something to eat?”

* * *

 

A yawn escaped Lahara as she looked out over her balcony. It was not quite the same as the lake view in Haven, but the misty mountains were equally as breath-taking. The setting sun glinted off her bracelet, and she raised it to the light, watching the lyrium droplets gather. The metal had returned to silver since she had tested it earlier; though compared to everything else, this new addition was the least of her worries. Three days had passed, and she’d still heard nothing from Bethany, and even less from Hawke. Worse still was Corypheus’s silence, which was even more nerve-wracking. Without anything to distract her, Lahara was growing more and more restless, and she didn’t know how much longer she could hold out.

Sighing, she rested her hand on the railing, her collar clicking. Her eyes fell to the rune on the back of her hand, and her lip curled.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” she mumbled, running a finger along the Shard. It had been bad enough acquiring the rift mark—an event she still couldn’t recall—let alone gaining a second so soon afterwards. And while it had certainly gotten her out of some tough scrapes, it was also not without its drawbacks. Eliza’s warning had set off deeper, more troubling thoughts, too, and Lahara shivered as they washed over her once more.

She held out her hands, studying the Shard and rift pattern together. Both held tremendous power, and both were starting to show the true cost of sustaining such. A cost that was rapidly becoming too expensive.

How swiftly that debt would come to claim Lahara, however…

A knock echoed from her door.

“Inquisitor?” The voice was not familiar; probably one of the soldiers. “Commander Cullen requests your presence, it’s urgent. He’s in the war room with Lady Josephine and Sister Leliana.”

“I’ll be right down,” Lahara called, grabbing her jacket from her chair. Finally—they must have heard something worth acting upon.

She jogged down the steps, weaving through the main hall and into the war chamber. As she pushed open the great oak doors, she found her advisors waiting, along with a face she hadn’t seen in a long while. She stopped at the threshold, brow raised.

“Ah, here she is,” Cullen said, and the newcomer turned around, revealing his Grey Warden uniform and shoulder-length hair. His face now sported a neat goatee, and he greeted Lahara with a tight smile.

“Nathaniel?” Lahara blinked.

“Good to see you too, Herald, or should I say Inquisitor,” Nathaniel said, standing tall. “I’ve heard it’s been a little rough for you lately. I hope things have picked up.”

“Sort of,” Lahara said, coming to join her advisors. “What’s brought you back to the Inquisition?”

“Well, actually I was wanting to speak with Alistair,” Nathaniel said, “but is it true he’s off on other business?”

“With Elissa and Bethany, yes,” Lahara said, “and we don’t really know when they’ll be coming back.”

“So Leliana has told me,” Nathaniel said. “That leaves me in quite the predicament.”

Lahara leant against the table, folding her arms.

“Sounds like something’s up,” she said. “Anything we can help with?”

“Perhaps.” Nathaniel’s tone was clipped, and he licked his lips. “The truth of the matter is, the Grey Wardens…are falling apart.”

Lahara raised a brow. “What, really?”

“I suppose I should start from the beginning, after I left Haven,” Nathaniel said, a heavy sigh escaping him. “When I reached Adamant Fortress, Warden-Commanders Clarel and Stroud were in the midst of a…disagreement, and it’s come to haunt us all.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re aware about a Warden’s Calling, yes?”

“That is when a Grey Warden is eventually summoned to the Deep Roads, as the price they pay for their Taint abilities,” Leliana supplied, subconsciously touching Elissa’s pendant.

“Yes. And it usually occurs thirty or forty years after becoming a Warden.” Nathaniel hesitated briefly, before continuing. “What you might not know is that recently, all current Wardens have suddenly heard their Calling, regardless of the time of their Joining.”

“That’s awful,” Lahara said.

“It would’ve been a catastrophe,” Nathaniel went on. “If every Warden in the Free Marches, Orlais and Ferelden had to go into the Deep Roads, there’d be none left to face the next Blight, whenever that would arise.”

“But why?” Leliana chewed her lip. “Why would you all hear it out of nowhere? And neither Elissa nor Bethany mentioned this, surely they would have heard it as well?”

“There’s a reason for that, but first you need to know this,” Nathaniel said. “It’s Corypheus who instigating this Calling from the start.”

Lahara’s eyes widened.

“No way…so it’s a fake?”

“Are you certain, Nathaniel?” Cullen began to pace. “How can he have that level of power, to subdue every Grey Warden so easily?”

“He is still a darkspawn at heart, no?” Leliana pointed out. “Hawke informed us as much. If he can create his own Archdemon, this would hardly be a stretch of his ability.”

“His reach over the Taint goes far beyond anything we’ve ever seen,” Nathaniel said. “And with the threat of losing all living Wardens, Clarel has gone mad. She’s become obsessed with finding and killing the final two Archdemons still sealed in the Deep Roads, and she’ll go to any lengths to see that achieved.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Lahara said. “What lengths, exactly?”

Nathaniel let out a breath. “She’s sacrificing Wardens to make a demon army.”

“Maker’s breath…” Josephine’s eyes widened.

“Does no-one oppose her?!” Cullen growled.

“We’ve been trying!” Nathaniel snapped, his eyes hardening. “As it turns out, any Warden exposed to Corruption loses their connection to the Taint, which is why myself, Elissa and Bethany never heard that Calling. But there’s only a handful of us at Adamant; not nearly enough to stop Clarel, and Stroud’s already paid the price.” His face fell. “I don’t know what else I can do. Weisshaupt refuses to respond, deigning only a Warden-Commander fit to address them, which was why I’ve been after Alistair. But Maker knows how long it will take to convince them to send reinforcements, and there’s all the chance they’ll side with Clarel anyway.”

“This is madness,” Cullen muttered. “Are the Wardens so obsessed with their fear of Blights that they cannot see they’ll doom us all?!”

“A Blight is nothing to be taken lightly,” Leliana countered. “I have seen first-hand the destruction it wreaks, but even I would not condone raising a demon army to prevent another. We cannot let Clarel continue this.”

“Agreed,” Lahara said. “Corypheus must be doing this to replace his Red Templars, and the Orlesian army he failed to get in Halamshiral. Once Clarel’s panic-ridden rituals are done, he’ll step in and take control of the whole thing.”

“And an army of demon-possessed Grey Wardens would make him completely unstoppable,” Nathaniel said. “I will not stand idle as he tries to destroy the Order that was founded to oppose his kind!”

“Then we’ll go knock some sense into this Warden-Commander,” Lahara declared. “The Inquisition will back you up, Nathaniel. You have my word.”

“It won’t be easy,” Cullen broke in. “Adamant has stood strong for centuries against the hardiest of threats, it will not go down without a fight.”

“That is true, but I know of some ways inside that are less fortified,” Nathaniel answered. “You will still need a sizeable force, though. One that can handle demons.”

“Easily done,” Lahara said. “Corypheus is _not_ getting the better of us this time.” She clenched her fist, her bracelet rattling. _Whatever it takes._

Nathaniel bowed.

“Then you have my sincerest thanks, Lahara,” he said. “Maker protect us all.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this ignores huge chunks of DA lore and replaces it with FF13: LR lore, it’s on purpose, trust me…

The roar of trebuchets and shattering stone rang loud as Lahara stared at the fortress of Adamant. It towered impossibly high, coming straight out of the mountains, but even its stalwart defences were starting to falter. The firelight was brilliant against the smoky sky, bathing the ramparts in a hellish glow, and the Inquisition soldiers cheered, pressing their advance.

“We’ve almost got an opening!” Cullen yelled. “Be ready!”

Lahara clenched her jaw, her fists braced. Her Shard flashed, and she kept her eye on the west gates. The wood splintered with each strike from the battering ram, until at last it shattered. The doors fell on themselves, and a blinding flash erupted, along with the shriek of demons.

“That’s our cue!” Iron Bull boomed, charging. He swung his axe, and Lahara swiped her hands, blasting the surrounding Despair demons. Nathaniel came at her heels, firing at every creature he could lay eyes on. Cassandra and Cole brought up the rear, slashing through the stragglers, and soon the entrance was clear.

Breathing hard, Lahara leant against the gatepost. Her lyrium collar clicked, and she glanced to her bracelet. The droplets inside were glowing, and a sliver of the metal had changed to gold. The timer had begun.

“Good work, Inquisitor!” Cullen called, weaving through the debris as more trebuchet shots slammed above. Lahara ducked, avoiding a shower of rubble that caked her hair in dust. “We’ll keep the Wardens on us, get to their Commander!”

“We’ll be as quick as we can!” Lahara promised.

“This way, Lara!” Nathaniel slung his bow on his shoulder, gesturing ahead. Lahara flashed him a thumbs-up, racing up the steps behind him. Hailing ash and flame filled the air, along with the shouts of soldiers and Wardens. Lahara ignored them, running through the narrow corridors, the walls shaking under the strain of the assault. The worst was yet to come, she was certain.

Finally, after dashing up another set of stairs, they emerged into the open again. Now they were on the western rampart, and it was teaming with demons. Several Wardens were fighting back, including a dwarf warrior, and Nathaniel’s eyes widened.

“Sigrun!”

Sigrun yelled, running through a Rage demon with her sword, before glancing back.

“About time you showed up!” she called, smiling. “These the good friends you were talking about?”

“Sure are,” Lahara said. “Let’s clean up!”

She bolted, summoning fireballs and unleashing them onto the shrieking Despair demons. Her bracelet burned, almost scalding her wrist, and she gritted her teeth.

“Leave this to us, Inquisitor,” Cassandra ordered. “You must not over-exert your power!”

Lahara bristled—even though she knew the Seeker was right—but then, as the demons fell, something rippled in the air. A deafening screech pierced Lahara’s ears, and an enormous Pride demon emerged, tearing at the fighters with whips of lightning.

“Whoa!” Sigrun backed away, regrouping with Cole and Nathaniel. “That’s huge!”

“It will still go down like all the rest!” Nathaniel assured. “Break through its barrier!”

“Seeker, follow my lead!” Iron Bull bellowed.

Cassandra nodded. She and Iron Bull sprinted, then split apart, taking the Pride demon by both flanks. Sigrun aimed for the gap, covered by more arrows from Nathaniel. Lahara stuck to the rear, waiting. If they could wear the creature down enough…

“Boisterous courage, ambition of ultimate victory,” Cole muttered, brandishing his knife. “ _We will end all Blights forever, unthanked heroes of eternity, a legend never sung but ever enduring…”_

The Pride demon roared, taking a deep cut to its back. It sank to one knee, and its barrier fizzled out. Lahara snarled, and she raised her left hand. The rift mark burst into life, and tendrils of Fade energy surrounded the demon. She clenched her fingers, and the Pride demon’s scream choked in its throat, ripped to shreds by the bands of green.

The light vanished, and Lahara grimaced, shaking out her buzzing hand. Rift magic always hurt, but it relied much less on her own mana. Cassandra shot her a dark look, but she ignored it. Wiping her brow, she surveyed the remaining Wardens. All were warriors, exhausted from the battle. Sigrun hurried to them, helping support the worst wounded.

“The Warden-Commander has gone too far,” she spat. “Taking us like cattle for the slaughter-house, turning our mages into demon soldiers!”

“Are there any others still resisting?” Nathaniel asked.

“Just us,” Sigrun reported. “Marcus’ group got wiped out, but they took a good few demons with them, and the last of Clarel’s defenders.” She nodded towards the unguarded stairwell. “The path to her should be clear.”

Nathaniel grimaced. “Then we won’t let their sacrifice be in vain.” He gripped the dwarf warrior’s shoulder. “Take the wounded and speak to the Inquisition soldiers outside. They’ll help, I promise.”

“Thanks,” Sigrun said. “End this insanity, brother. Good luck.”

The remaining Wardens nodded, helping each other limp towards the gates. Lahara watched them go, and clenched her fist. So much unnecessary bloodshed; just like when the Templars had turned on the Circle mages. A flash of her brother came to mind, but she quickly dismissed it. She couldn’t afford to be distracted.

“Is everything alright, Inquisitor?” Cassandra kept her eye on Lahara’s bracelet.

“I’m fine,” Lahara said. “Come on!”

She hurried to the stairwell Sigrun had pointed out, descending through another building, and then she was dazzled by jade. She shielded her eyes with her hand, adjusting to the glare of the rift. It hung above the courtyard, although for the moment it remained quiescent.

Gathered below were more Wardens. Most were mages, their eyes holding a reddish glow, and the bodies of slain warriors lay everywhere, clean wounds at their throats. Above them stood the Warden-Commander, her brow furrowed. She wasn’t alone, however. A man in Tevinter robes paced alongside her, a chilling smile on his lips. Lahara bristled.

_A Venatori?_

“Warden-Commander, stop!” Nathaniel barked. “This madness has gone on long enough. I will not have you betray all that the Wardens stand for!”

The Warden-Commander snapped her head up. Her lip curled.

“So, this attack was _your_ doing,” she hissed. “How dare you say what I do is madness, when your own Warden-Commander abandoned you, when you barter for any army willing to listen, because you are too weak to keep the oath you were sworn to uphold?” She drew her staff. “If anyone here is the traitor, it is you, Nathaniel Howe! Your transgression against the Wardens will not go unpunished!”

“So who’s your friend, then?” Lahara interrupted, gesturing to the man. “I didn’t know siding with a Venatori made _you_ neutral!”

The Tevinter’s eyes flared.

“I am not here to beg for the Warden’s allegiance!” he sneered. “They do what no-one can, defending an ungrateful world by any means, and I am here to show them the way.” He glanced to Clarel. “Empowering your mages will ensure the threat of Blights ended forever, Commander. A heroic deed that will be cast to shadows, but one that will keep Thedas safe for its remaining days. The Inquisition will never understand!”

“Clarel, do you honestly believe that?” Nathaniel shouted. “His master is one of the magisters who created the Taint, he wants the Wardens for his own gain!”

“So you and Stroud kept insinuating!” Clarel roared back. “When it was highly convenient that neither of you could hear this Calling, nor sense darkspawn any longer!” She paced the ramparts. “How am I to tell you are not already under another’s thrall?”

Lahara growled. Had the world gone mad? It was even worse than talking with Florianne.

“Clarel, please, think about this for a second.” The Herald fought to keep a level tone. “Why would a Tevinter suddenly appear during your hour of need, if he hadn’t had a hand in making the crisis himself!” She shook her head. “The Inquisition is not your enemy, Commander. Corypheus is. I defended the southern mages, I destroyed his Red Templars, I took the Orlesian army out from under him, and now he’s only got you left. Don’t be fooled by his tricks!”

An uneasy murmur ran through the Wardens. Clarel glared at the Herald, but something in her gaze had changed.

“But…But Corypheus is dead.” Her voice wavered, uncertain.

“Of course he is. Do not listen to them, Clarel!” the Venatori hissed. “Salvation and glory await, you must embrace it!” He gazed towards the rift. “A demon fitting of your power lies beyond. Choose a sacrifice, and bring it through.”

“No!” One of the warrior Wardens suddenly spoke. “We know the price of our duty, Commander, but it is not worth a sacrifice based upon a lie!” He snatched out his sword. “If what Nathaniel and the Inquisition say is true…”

“We’ve been fools,” another added. “How have we gone through with this on only the word of a foreign mage?”

Other Wardens voiced their hesitancy, and Clarel finally looked at the Tevinter.

“Perhaps the Inquisition’s claim should be revisited, Erimond,” she said. “There has been much bloodshed already, if any further can be avoided…”

Erimond scowled.

“Or perhaps you need to be reminded of your place!”

He raised his arm, a cruel smirk spreading on his lips.

“My master expected your interference, _Herald_ ,” he spat, emphasising Lahara’s title. “So he asked me to bring a welcome gift!”

Lahara bared her teeth, her Shard glowing, when a howling screech sent the ramparts trembling. Clarel gasped, her gaze turned skywards. Moments later a thunderous wind broke through, and at last the Archdemon appeared. It roared again, letting loose a jet of flame, and the Wardens and Inquisition forces scattered.

“Not this again!” Lahara muttered, brushing debris off her shoulders.

“An Archdemon?!” Clarel shot daggers at Erimond. “Then you truly are…” She flung out her staff, and an arc of lightning struck the Venatori in the chest. He cried out, dropping to his knees, his own weapon clattering to the ground. Clarel’s nostrils flared, a further spell on her lips, but the Archdemon was quicker. It leapt off the parapet, scoring fire into the stone, and Clarel yelped, forced against a wall. More rubble tumbled, and Lahara twisted her hands, blasting it clear with an air spell.

Clarel groaned, righting herself, as Erimond scrambled into the ramparts. She bit her lip, gazing back to the Wardens.

“Help the Inquisition, and destroy the Archdemon!” she ordered, before bolting after the Tevinter.

“After her!” Lahara shouted, breaking into a run.

She tore up the steps to the top of the battlements, following the path of crumbling stone. The Archdemon continued to reign fire, and Lahara wove between the fortifications, the flames bringing sweat to her cheeks. The clouds were beginning to rumble, too, disturbed from the gathering magic. A distant peal of thunder boomed, and droplets began to splash down, growing heavier.

As the heavens opened, Lahara raised a hand to her eyes, squinting at the bridge ahead. Its middle had fallen away, destroyed by the earlier trebuchet assault, and Erimond was at its edge, trapped. Clarel faced him down, a demonic scowl on her lips.

“You should have done as you were told,” Erimond snarled, wiping his bloodied cheek. “You would have been Corypheus’s general, hero of a world that would praise your deeds, not shun them like…ugh!”

A sharp yelp cut him off as Clarel slashed her staff downward, a torrent of flame unleashed. The Tevinter howled, when another lightning bolt slammed into him. He fell to his front, unmoving, but still breathing. Clarel’s lip curled, moving in for the final blow.

Brilliant lightning sparked above, and the burst of thunder was answered by the Archdemon’s screech. The battlements shook, trembling dust, and Lahara stumbled, almost knocked off her feet. Clarel, too, had to catch herself on her hands. She exchanged a glance with the Herald—a mix of panic, guilt and anger—when the dragon lunged. It landed heavily on the bridge, causing more of it to fall apart. Erimond fell over the edge, and Clarel cried out, trying to retreat.

“Commander!” Nathaniel made for her, but the Archdemon was faster. It snapped its jaws down, clamping them around the Warden-Commander. Clarel barely whimpered, thrown around between the creature’s teeth, before she was released, slamming into the ground.

The Archdemon shook itself in the rain, turning its eyes to Lahara. It stalked forward, gnashing its teeth.

“Oh, you still want your mid-morning snack?” Lahara jeered, clenching her fist. “Looks to me you need to go on a diet!”

She sprinted through the downpour, her right hand charged. The Archdemon stood its ground, flaring out its wings. However, just before Lahara could land her attack, her left hand flared. She yelped, her Shard turning white-hot, and the battlements exploded into green.

“Lara!” Nathaniel’s shout was soon drowned by the rumbling, and the remains of the bridge started to crumble. The Archdemon howled, caught in the web of energy. It flapped like a panicked bird, destroying more of the ramparts. The tendrils of green spiralled, gathering into a giant rift. Lahara tried to move, but she was frozen, her hands searing.

The ground disappeared, and Lahara screamed, falling straight into the portal.

* * *

 

“Lara. Lara, open your eyes.”

Lahara mumbled, fighting against the pull of darkness. Her hands were raw, and her whole body was so, so weak. Everything hurt, and she didn’t want to wake up.

But that voice…

“Come on, sis,” the voice continued; so achingly familiar. “I know you could sleep for Thedas but now is not the time!”

Lahara’s eyes snapped open, and she bolted upright. At once she hissed, clutching her left hand. The rift mark was glowing, tearing into her skin like hundreds of needles. Biting back the pain, she forced herself to look up, into a pair of green eyes she hadn’t seen for so long.

“Wha…” The word slurred on her lips, and her brother smiled, crouching beside her.

“Well good morning,” he greeted. His gaze fell to her agitated mark. “Here, I can help with that.”

He reached out, taking Lahara’s palm in his own. Lahara froze, his touch like ice, but it was also firm, real. Slowly, her rift mark quieted, still stinging, but not unbearable as before. Her brother made to release her, but Lahara held on, her fingers quivering.

“Joseph?” Her eyes welled with tears. “You’re…it’s really you, isn’t it?”

“It is, and it isn’t,” Joseph answered. “I can explain, but there’s not much time, and you need to get back to your friends.”

Lahara’s eyes widened, her memories flooding back. The collapse of the battlement, the Archdemon’s wailing, the enormous rift…

She snapped back to the present, finally starting to take in her surroundings. Everything was tinged green, and the sky was a vast, open vortex of jade. The ground was damp and rocky, although the latter took on formations impossible in the real world. The air was thin, making it harder to breathe, and even the mix of water and earth gave off no smell. Lastly, in the near distance, Lahara could just make out a set of black, burnt ruins, an old cathedral standing out amongst them.

“Maker above,” she muttered, rising to her feet. “This…we’re…I’m…”

_I’m…I’m **in** the sodding Fade!_

“Yes,” Joseph said, as if reading her thoughts. “Just like when you first got your mark. Your friends came through, too, and they’re on the other side. I can take you to them, but before I do, I need to show you something important.”

Before Lahara could ask anything further, he began walking. Lahara stumbled after him, their hands still linked. Fatigue forgotten, she wiped her eyes, still not quite believing she was conversing with her deceased brother as if nothing had ever happened.

“How…how did you find me?” she asked, as they approached a stream.

“You called me,” Joseph answered, striding through the ankle-deep water. “Same as you did in the Unseen Realm, but it’s harder for me to have form there.”

“The…huh?” Lahara blinked. “You mean the Black City, when I was looking for Elissa?”

Joseph nodded. “The Chanty called that place the Black City, but it’s so much more than that.” He sighed, squeezing Lahara’s fingers. “But what matters is that I heard you, and I get to see you again.” His eyes shimmered. “I’ve missed you, sis.”

“Me too, more than anything,” Lahara answered, drawing closer. “I’m so sorry. If I’d just listened to you the first time…”

“Lara, there’s nothing to forgive,” Joseph cut her off.

“But there is, and…”

“I won’t hear it,” Joseph insisted. “We haven’t time, and you must see this.”

He walked faster, and Lahara almost had to jog to keep up. Her mind was in turmoil, filled with question after question, but the ache in her heart kept her from voicing them. All the guilt and hurt she’d bottled up since her brother’s death was spilling out, and it was all she could do to stop herself breaking down. No, Joseph wanted to show her something important; she would deal with her feelings later.

The stream ended, and they arrived at the scorched ruins. It appeared wholly untouched, and Lahara found herself wandering the familiar path to the cathedral. Maker, how long ago that adventure seemed…

Joseph led the way through the buildings, indeed heading straight for the cathedral. Now its front doors had been blown aside, exposing the obsidian gate. The glyphs on its pillars were glowing, and the space between rippled, revealing it was still open.

Joseph stopped before the portal, the charge of magic stirring his hair.

“Have a look,” he said.

Swallowing, Lahara stepped to his side, her Shard tingling as she peered through. There were no islands this time, simply a view of the forgotten city she had ended up inside. The crystal throne remained in the centre, sitting below the giant spire, and drops of glistening lyrium and black Corruption danced through the empty ways.  
  
However, as Lahara watched, some of the droplets began to coalesce. More light specks joined it, suffocating the black ones, and as the mix brushed the throne, a spark ignited. Lahara blinked, momentarily blinded, but when she looked again, a spirit had taken form. Her Shard turned warm, and she felt a presence tug at her thoughts, curious.

“It’s a spirit of Wonder,” she said, catching the light-form escaping through another portal.

“Yes,” Joseph said. “The Unseen Realm was where the souls of Thedas came to be reborn, until the goddess was murdered. With no-one to keep the souls bound, they fragment, and the pieces sometimes reform into incomplete beings. If they have more lyrium, they become spirits, and if they have more Chaos, they become demons. But they can never be true souls, not without the goddess to purify them.”

Lahara’s eyes widened.

“Maker’s breath…” She held her hand to her chest. “Is that what Corruption truly is, then, and lyrium too?”

“It’s no corruption,” Joseph said. “Merely the darkness of our soul, given a form it was never meant to have. And lyrium is its polar opposite, the brightness we hold within. And if they don’t combine in the Unseen Realm, they leak into the Fade, and then to Thedas.”

“Then…” Lahara hesitated, “…this…you, here with me now, why haven’t you…”

“Broken up into a spirit or demon yet?” Joseph supplied. “It’s because you remember me, Lara. The memories of the living let souls keep their form. But once they’re forgotten, they decay, and not only that, it decays the Fade, as well. It’s been going on for centuries and centuries, and now it might be too late to reverse the damage.”

Lahara tensed. “What do you mean?”

“This decay is spreading to Thedas,” Joseph went on, “and we mages have accelerated it. Through consuming lyrium like we have, it’s removed the balance. Without the lyrium in the earth to contain the Chaos, it’s spreading, eating away at the core of the world from within. It’s an apocalypse waiting to burst, and once that happens, which it will, all three realms will disappear forever.”

“No!” Lahara shook her head. This couldn’t be. “There has to be a way to stop this!”

“I don’t know if that’s even possible anymore,” Joseph said. “Not without the goddess.”

“But I have some of her power!” Lahara thrust out her right hand. “And I can bring the others together…maybe if we can combine their strength…”

Joseph smiled sadly. He took Lahara’s hands, bringing them to her chest.

“I don’t have the answer, sis,” he admitted, “but I have faith you’ll find one.” He ruffled her hair, his fingertips brittle with cold. “You always were the brightest Trevelyan.”

The rest of his words were cut off as a faint shriek echoed across the air. Lahara shivered, the sound sending a chill down her spine. Joseph’s eyes narrowed.

“Your friends are in danger,” he said. “You must return to them.”

He grasped Lahara’s right hand, pushing it against the obsidian pillar. Her Shard burned, and the portal glimmered, changing shape and colour. “Go through, it will take you where you need to go.”

“Joseph…” Lahara’s voice cracked. She tore her hand away, throwing her arms around him. “This isn’t fair! Can’t you come with me, isn’t there some way…”

“I’m sorry, Lara,” Joseph said. “I can’t leave this place. But I do know this.” He held her shoulder, touching her cheek. “So long as a soul is remembered, they will never fragment. Keep me in your thoughts, and I won’t ever disappear. That I promise.”

Lahara choked back a sob, pulling her brother into an embrace again.

“I won’t forget,” she promised, her tears trailing to her chin. “I’ll always remember you, Joseph. I promise. I love you.”

A breath of ice teased her forehead, and then her brother withdrew from her arms.

“Love you too, sis,” Joseph said. He gently turned Lahara around, pushing her firmly towards the portal. “Now go save your friends, and the world.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone still reading, my apologies, I have really, really lost all interest in this story, so updates have and will be a bit erratic. I will still try my best to finish it however!

Lahara burst through and hit the ground running, skidding over the rocks. Her momentum was too much, and she lost her balance, careening into a shadowy figure ahead. The voice that cried out was male, and they both slammed into the ground, drenched in ankle-deep water.

“Ugh…ow…” Lahara shook her head, clearing the stars. Then a firm hand pushed her aside, accompanied by a groan.

“Maker, you’re heavier than you look,” Nathaniel grunted, rubbing his side. “Where did you come from, anyway?”

“Your imagination, clearly,” Lahara said dryly, shuffling back to her feet. Brushing back her damp locks, she offered her hand. “Are you alright?”

“Save the bruising you’ve just given me, yes, I am.” Nathaniel took the Herald’s palm, standing once more. “I’m glad you found me, but have you seen anyone else?”

Lahara raised a brow. “They’re not with you?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “All I remember is Adamant’s east turret collapsing, and we fell into a rift. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself here, and it didn’t take long for demons to come hunting.” A shiver ran through him as he drew his bow, wary. “Have we truly come through into the Fade?”

“Afraid so,” Lahara said, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Maker above.” Nathaniel sucked in a sharp breath. “I…how could we even…”

“I know,” Lahara replied, studying the maze of stone around them. “I never thought much about the carpet, either.”

Nathaniel’s lips twitched, but didn’t quite make a smile. He clenched his fist.

“Well, whatever happened, we have to get back to Adamant,” he said. “Can you find a way out?”

“I should be able to,” Lahara said, glancing to her rift mark. “We’ll need to find the others first, though.”

“Of course.” Nathaniel raised a hand to his eyes, scanning the clouds. “Be on your guard. I’ve no doubt more demons will be lurking nearby.”

Nodding, Lahara stepped forward, raising her left hand. It flickered and spat, scalding her palm, and she hissed, wishing her brother could calm it again. The revelations he’d spoken about still chilled her, but she forced them aside. There would be time to dwell on them later.

Eventually the rift mark settled, and Lahara let it reach out, listening for the various resonances. There was much more interference compared to last time, so she closed her eyes. Slowly, she was able to pick through the cacophony of sound. She began to hum, testing the harmonies for familiarity. The bracelet around her wrist warmed, and she bit her lip, picturing the image of her companions. Almost, almost…

At last, a flash appeared in her mind; Cassandra, fighting off a hoard of Rage demons. The Herald opened her eyes, and her left hand tingled, drawn towards the right-hand path.

“This way!” She broke into a jog, splashing through the puddles. They dashed through the towering rocks, Lahara’s rift mark acting as a compass. But the corridors of stone were endless, and seemed to stretch to nowhere. Dead-ends morphed into steep passages, and it was quickly evident they were going in circles.

Snarling, Lahara threw out her right hand, commanding the cliffs to her will. The Shard flashed, and the mountains split apart, creating a path. Lahara clenched her teeth, her bracelet burning again. It was already half gold, but she didn’t care. If they arrived too late…

A shudder ran through the chasm, and the walls fissured, leaking water. The level rapidly rose, and Lahara cursed.

“It’s going to flood!” Nathaniel yelled.

Lahara’s brows narrowed. She stopped running. The water bubbled to her waist, but she focused on the cliff ahead. Poising her hands, she muttered a spell, and a bolt of arcane magic slammed into the stone. It exploded, and the water escaped, becoming a waterfall.

The shriek of demons echoed, and Lahara gasped.

“Look, down there!” Nathaniel gestured to the bottom of the cliff. The newly-formed waterfall emptied into another river, and in its shallows hunched Cassandra. She was on her knees, supporting her side with one hand, desperately clutching her shield in the other. A pair of Rage demons flanked her, trying to deal a final blow, though the spray made them hesitate.

“Leave her alone!” Lahara bellowed, firing a spear of ice from her fingertips. In seconds it doubled in thickness, and one of the Rage demons screeched, pinned to the cliff behind. Nathaniel’s arrows tore through the other, and Lahara jumped, diving into the pool beside the Seeker. Another blast of ice, and the demons vanished.

Cassandra gritted her teeth, dropping her shield.

“Cass!” Lahara knelt in the shallows. She touched the Seeker’s side, and blood stained her fingers. “You’re hurt, let me…”

“No.” Cassandra pushed the Herald’s hand away, her eyes on the bracelet. “My wound is not serious, do not waste your power.”

Lahara rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that. I’ve got plenty of reserve, just…”

“I would heed Cassandra’s wisdom, young mage.” A woman’s voice broke through. “Maker knows it has saved me many times.”

The hairs on the back of Lahara’s neck stood on end. She released Cassandra, bracing her fists as she looked to the newcomer. At once the fire spell died on her lips, and she stared.

Standing before them was a white-robed woman, wearing a striped mitre. Her face was craggy and aged, but her eyes sparkled, and she gave a bow. Cassandra’s eyes widened, and she held a hand to her mouth. Nathaniel, too, was dumbstruck, and his bow quivered in his hand.

“Most…Holy?” The Seeker’s voice was a whisper. “But…it cannot…”

Divine Justinia smiled.

“I understand this seems impossible, Cassandra, but it is very much the truth.” She entered the shallows, casting ripples in the water. “It is good to see you again.” She turned to Nathaniel. “And you, young Warden. I am sorry for your friends who lost their lives in the explosion.”

Nathaniel scowled, unable to tear his eyes away.

“I know the Chantry teaches that souls can linger in the Fade,” he said, “but this…”

Lahara faced the woman, wary. “Who are you, really?”

“You do well to mistrust what you see,” Justinia commended. “However, if you wish to confirm the truth, ask your Shard. It will reveal what you wish to know.”

Lahara clenched her right hand.

“Now I know you’re a fake,” she declared. “You couldn’t possibly know about my other mark.”

“The Fade does not exist in isolation, young mage,” Justinia said. “I have been watching since the Conclave was destroyed. And the Shards of Andraste unite more than just the two realms.” She gestured to the rune on Lahara’s hand. “If I am a demon sent to deceive, you have the power to expose me. Use it, for I have much to tell, and I would prefer I had your trust to begin with.”

“It’s a trick, Lara,” Nathaniel growled, nocking an arrow. “Destroy it, before…”

“No!” Cassandra forced herself upright and grasped Nathaniel’s wrist. “She…it has done us no harm, we need not provoke it further.” She turned to Lahara, hesitant. “If what this spirit—apparition, soul, whatever it is—claims is true, then prove it to us. Please.”

Lahara sighed.

“Fair enough.” She raised her right hand, letting the rune come to life. Justinia approached, keeping her arms by her sides. Lahara listened, sceptical, when suddenly she caught the late Divine’s resonance. It was almost as loud as her own, but not quite substantial. Her eyes widened.

_Just like Joseph’s._

“She’s the real deal,” Lahara murmured, dropping her hand. “This is Divine Justinia’s soul!”

“Truly?” Cassandra swallowed, seeming to fight back tears. “But how? How have you held on for so long?”

“I have you to partly thank,” Justinia said. “You, and Leliana, and the Chantry, and every citizen who still remembers me. It is your remembrances that have let my spirit linger.”

A tightness gripped Lahara’s chest, her brother’s words echoing back.

“The memories of the living let souls keep their form,” she uttered.

Nathaniel frowned.

“But if that’s the case, why isn’t the Fade full of souls?” he asked.

Justinia smiled sadly.

“Very few can resist the draw of the Black City,” she answered. “It is where our souls should be, by the side of the Maker. Alas, I have staved off my end, for there are important things you need to know, and only I can impart such.”

“Oh?” Lahara raised a brow.

Justinia’s gaze fell to her rift mark.

“You still do not remember how you acquired your first gift,” she said, “and if you are to overthrow Corypheus, that must be set right.”

Lahara’s ears perked up, and she brushed her left hand. “Huh, I always thought I hit my head too hard.”

“No,” Justinia said. “Those memories were taken from you, and for good reason.” She paused, folding her hands together. “Corypheus bargained with a Nightmare demon, and it has grown fat thanks to the turmoil on Thedas. Now its tendrils have burrowed deep, corrupting those who venture too near. It is the one enthralling the Wardens, and must be destroyed. But until its hold on you is removed, you will not be able to defeat it.”

Nathaniel clenched his jaw. Lahara rubbed her temple.

“Sounds simple enough,” she drawled. “So where is this demon?”

“I can take you to its lair,” Justinia said, “but you must reclaim your memories first. The Nightmare split it into two fragments. One I have managed to find already, alas the other you will have to seek out.” She nodded to Lahara’s left hand. “Your mark may be able to help. Once you have recovered it, I will come and find you again.”

She stepped backwards, her body starting to glow. Before she completely vanished, she stretched out her arm, and a band of mist escaped her, coiling around the broken ice spear.

“What’s that?” Nathaniel approached, making to touch it, but his hand simply passed through.

“I think I know,” Lahara said, wading towards the vapour. It looked eerily similar to the misted gates that led to the Black City, and the Herald could guess it would have the same effect. Only this time, it would be her own memory.

Taking a breath, Lahara plunged her hand into the haze. The rift mark sparked, and Lahara cried out. The rocks and sky fizzled away, replaced by sturdy bricks and torches.

_The Conclave._

_“What is the meaning of this? Why are you of all people doing this?”_

_Darkness…smoke…torchlight…magic…silver griffin…_

_“Keep the sacrifice still.”_

_That voice…he’s…the orb, that power…_

_“Please, someone help me!”_

_So bright…so many Wardens…why…what in the Maker’s name…_

_“What’s going on here?!”_

_No…stop them…so much magic…I can’t…my hand…it burns!_

A surge shot through Lahara’s left palm, and she groaned, collapsing to her knees. She clutched her hand against her chest, the mark screaming as if she’d plunged it into a forge.

“Lahara!” Nathaniel crouched beside her, his hand on her shoulder. Lahara could only acknowledge him with a nod, still trembling. She forced herself to breathe deeply, the lyrium in her collar flickering. _Yup; just like those damned gates._

Nathaniel watched, his expression grave.

“We saw it, too,” he said quietly. “It seems your gift didn’t come from Andraste, after all.”

“Not the one everyone claims was from her, anyway,” Lahara muttered, clasping and unclasping her fingers. She had never truly believed that in the first place, and it was just like her to have stumbled upon such power accidentally. Still, it did little to remove the bitterness that indirectly, _she_ was responsible for the tragedy at the Conclave. She’d gone there to make up for a lifetime of apathy and indifference, and instead had soiled her hands with the blood of the innocent.

_And then they made me their Herald…_

“Indeed.” Cassandra’s voice held a new edge, her eyes darkening. “But I am more concerned about that host of Wardens who were holding the Divine hostage!”

Nathaniel snarled.

“It was obvious they were under Corypheus’s thrall!” he retorted. “The Wardens have always been neutral, we’d have no reason to betray the Divine!”

Cassandra scoffed. “Given their recent desperate behaviour, I would not put it past them.”

“Don’t you dare!” Nathaniel snatched a knife from his belt. “I lost my dearest sisters in that disaster, and I _never_ sided with Clarel. I will not have you spit on their memory!”

Cassandra bared her teeth. She reached for her sword, when Lahara cut in.

“Andraste’s ass, knock it off, both of you!” The Herald dragged herself upright, stumbling between them. “Now is not the time to get all cut-throat. We have to focus on getting out of here.”

“Agreed.” Nathaniel sheathed his weapon, turning back to the Seeker. “We will deal with this once we return to Adamant.”

“You had better believe we will,” Cassandra threatened, releasing her sword hilt.

The pair exchanged keen glares, and Lahara shook her head. This was too much; she could only pray their tempers wouldn’t fray to nothing before they found a way out.

Something prickled her wrist, and she glanced to her bracelet. It had filled again, leaving barely a quarter silver. Sighing, Lahara licked her lips. It would be just enough to Fade-seek the other memory fragment. After that, however…well, best not to think about that.

Lahara closed her eyes, lifting her left hand once again. With one fragment recovered, she had an idea of what to listen for, although that was only half the battle. There was so much emptiness around her, so much white noise to sift through. A dull ache began to throb behind her temples, and Lahara grimaced, trying to concentrate. The pain spread to her right hand, and nausea built in her throat.

At last a flash came—a flooded valley to the north—but it barely lasted a second before Lahara was violently sick. She staggered, and Nathaniel caught her. Lahara groaned, hissing at the acid taste, her heartbeat thrumming in her ears. Her marks were hot and sore, her palms numb, and her collar burned.

“This isn’t good.” Nathaniel’s gaze brimmed with worry. “Your marks are poisoning you, Lahara. They have to be.”

Lahara managed a shaky nod, wiping her mouth.

“I…know…but…no choice,” she rasped. “This…way.”

She pulled free of Nathaniel, and a wave of dizziness washed over her. Grimacing, she kept still, letting the giddiness pass. When her head stopped spinning, she set out, making for a narrow pass in the rocks. Her left hand glowed brighter, and she clutched her wrist. The mark was much more easily stirred in the Fade, and Lahara could feel the magic coursing up her arm. Even without casting, it was absorbing mana, meaning her time limit was still ticking. She bit her lip, trying not to watch the ever-shrinking band of silver.

The trail descended, cutting through a series of caves. Lahara walked briskly, a shiver prickling as she felt something peering from dark crevices. She didn’t have long to think on it, however, as a bellow echoed from the lower valley.

“Was that Iron Bull?” Cassandra raised a brow, scanning the landscape.

Lahara scowled, also searching, when a whisper danced through her thoughts.

**_Protect…keep safe that which was stolen…return to its rightful…too many…piercing arrows of icy despair, smothering…can’t breathe…can’t see…_ **

The Herald’s eyes widened. “Cole’s here, too!”

She broke into a clumsy run, sending the loose gravel flying. The path twisted left and right, before it ended at a low overhang. The remains of a drained lake spread below, colour and fire illuminating its eastern bank. And in between stood Iron Bull and Cole, fervently fending off Despair demons hungry for blood.

“Stay here, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said, drawing her sword. “Under no circumstances must you use your magic!”

Lahara bristled, but didn’t argue. Already the dizziness was coming back, so she crouched behind a boulder, as Nathaniel nocked an arrow. Her vision blurred, and she rubbed her eyes. Maker, who needed the bracelet; she felt rougher than a ship caught in the Waking Sea.

Eventually Iron Bull cried a victory cheer, and Nathaniel shouldered his bow. Lahara let out the breath she had been holding. They were safe again, for the moment. She made to stand up, but her legs swayed, and Nathaniel had to catch her.

“Easy.” He anchored an arm around Lahara’s waist, and they walked over to the others.

“Am I glad to see you, Boss!” Iron Bull boomed, slapping Lahara on the back. “You look absolutely peachy.”

Lahara coughed, managing a pained smile.

“S’alright, I’m sturdier…than I look.” She grimaced, leaning a little heavier on Nathaniel. The light-headedness wasn’t going away, and it was taking all her willpower to stay on her feet.

“You’re about as convincing as Krem after a few casks,” Iron Bull joked. “What’s up?”

“Just…bit high…on lyrium,” Lahara muttered. Her collar clicked, and she drew deeper breaths. Cole kept his gaze on her, his eyes pale and piercing.

“You must be, after throwing us into the damned Fade,” Iron Bull said. “I just hope you can get us out.”

Lahara nodded. Before she could reply, however, Cole abruptly spoke.

“You aren’t whole anymore.” He continued to study the Herald. “Gaps in your heart, splitting, shattering like ancient empire’s fall, a spider’s web unravelling in winter’s storm.”

A chill ran through Lahara, and she tensed. Something told her he wasn’t just talking about her missing memories.

“We’re looking for Lahara’s lost memory of the Conclave,” Nathaniel said. “Have you seen anything that looks like a ring of mist?”

Iron Bull blinked.

“As a matter of fact…” He gestured to Cole, who brought forth his hands. A band of silver vapour danced over his palms, and Lahara’s rift mark sparkled. “One of the demons we fought dropped it, and they seemed pretty keen to get it back. Knew it had to be valuable, whatever it was.”

“Sounds…about right,” Lahara croaked. “Can…I have it?”

Cole stepped closer, offering the prize. Cautiously, Lahara touched it. Her fingertips brushed the mist, and the reaction started, stealing her breath.

_So dark…cold…this place…my hand…hurts…hurts so much…_

_Chittering…claws…Maker get up, get up!_

_“Up here!”_

_Voice…hers…she…survived?_

_“Quickly, the demons!”_

_Run…run, have to run…spiders…almost…the cliff…no time!_

_“Hurry!”_

_Her hand…still warm…that light…a rift…_

_Run, run!_

_“Keep running!”_

_A scream…too bright…I can’t…help…_

Lahara yelped, her mind slamming back to the present. Nathaniel kept a strong grip, preventing her from falling, but her trembling was uncontrollable. However, not all of it was due to the mana rush in her veins.

“I…she…” Lahara couldn’t hold back her tears, and they glistened, rolling down her cheeks.

_She saved me._

_The Divine saved **me**._

_She saved a lazy, weak, stupid, selfish, useless mage, when she could’ve…_

Cassandra’s gaze softened. She took Lahara’s arm, gently squeezing.

“It would have been just like Justinia to do that,” she said. “She truly did hold such love over all. I am glad that…even at the end, she never sacrificed that.”

Lahara bowed her head, ridden with guilt. It had never been Andraste who’d delivered her from the Fade. It had been the Divine herself all along.

“Why?” Lahara mumbled, brushing away her tears. “She was so much more important than I was. I wasn’t worth…she shouldn’t have…”

“It was her choice, Lahara,” Cassandra said. “And much as I still lament her loss, I know her decision has proven wise. You have made the Inquisition what it is, and we have done so much good. I am only sorry Justinia could not see first-hand what we have achieved, thanks to you.”

**_“The Inquisition is a farce, and the old crone was a fool to save you!”_ **

A dark, rasping voice echoed across the lakebed, and Lahara started. Iron Bull snarled, his axe returning to his hands, and Cassandra and Cole pressed closer, their weapons also drawn. Nothing appeared, yet the voice continued to chuckle.

 ** _“Poor, poor Herald,”_** it mocked. **_“Ever closer does your end approach, a death more agonizing and final than any I could impart. I am almost sorry the most devastating blow will not be by my hand.”_**

Lahara’s lip curled. She’d heard that voice before, and the embers of long-forgotten pain ignited inside.

“Show yourself, Nightmare!” She pushed away from Nathaniel, standing alone. Anger was more than enough to banish her sickness, and she clenched her fists. After Joseph’s death, that voice had haunted her for months, instilling terror into her heart, into her dreams. It had made her life miserable, almost unbearable, until she had finally found a way to shut it out.

Payback was long overdue.

 ** _“You think you’d stand a chance, even with your magic?”_** The Nightmare gloated. **_“By all means, fabled Herald. Set upon me with your Shard, and I will enjoy watching your soul shatter!”_**

“You don’t scare me!” Lahara hissed. “Not anymore. But it seems you’re a little reluctant to come out of your shell?”

 ** _“I need do nothing, and you will still die,”_** the Nightmare scoffed. **_“And not just die. You will be lost from existence forever, your soul like dust in the aether. Joseph will disappear, with no-one else for his remembrance. And dear, sweet Bethany won’t even be heart-broken, for her memory of you will vanish just the same!”_**

“You haven’t the right to even speak her name!” Lahara roared, her mismatched eyes blazing. “Face me, coward, and we’ll see whose soul will become dust!”

 ** _“Then find me, brave Herald,”_** the Nightmare answered. **_“My servant will be sure to show you the way!”_**

Something rippled across the air, and the ground erupted into blinding light. The group scattered, when a huge Pride demon came into being. It screeched, twin whips of lightning in hand, and lashed out. Thunder crackled, and Lahara dodged, the cliff behind her scorched into rubble.

“Break its barrier!” Cassandra ordered, regrouping with Iron Bull. Despite her wound she stood straight, her sword angled at the beast. Nathaniel fired several arrows, though they were burnt to ash in mid-flight. Iron Bull growled, waiting for an opening.

However, before they could begin an assault, a blaze of golden light burst through the rocks. The Pride demon hesitated, entranced by the approaching brilliance. The rays coalesced into a ball, then shot forward, slamming into the demon’s chest. The creature howled, its innards melting from the heat. Blood poured from the burns, and finally it collapsed, a dead mass of charred flesh.

A pained roar echoed in the distance, and the mountains behind ruptured. Lahara stumbled, having to catch herself on the bank. Eventually the dust settled, and Lahara stood, squinting along the new pass. It led to a set of jagged rocks, and right above swirled an agitated rift. The same one which had brought them here from Adamant.

The golden orb flickered, catching Lahara’s eye. She watched it hover, then take on a more humanoid shape. Gradually the brightness dimmed, and when it vanished, Divine Justinia stood in its place. She held her chest, biting back a grimace.

“Most Holy!” Cassandra ran to her side, though hesitated to touch her.

“I am fine,” Justinia said, wiping her brow. “But it seems the Nightmare has grown impatient.” She flashed a warning look to Lahara. “Young mage, I have no doubt it wants your Shard. Whatever it tries, you must not use its magic against it.”

“Think I heard that the first time,” Lahara muttered, glancing to her bracelet. Only a finger’s breadth of silver remained.

“The Nightmare’s taunts were not without foundation,” Justinia went on. “You must be extremely careful.” She tensed her jaw. “Come, the creature guards the exit.”

“Good. I’m not leaving ‘til it’s dead,” Nathaniel rumbled. “For murdering my Warden sisters and turning my Order against itself, I will make it suffer!”

“I’m going to enjoy knocking that bastard off its pedestal, too!” Iron Bull said, cracking his knuckles.

“Likewise.” Lahara squared her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

The Divine nodded. “Good luck. I will try to help, once I am recovered a little.”

She disappeared into gold again, leaving nothing but the new path. Nathaniel took the lead, his gaze hardened. Lahara stuck to the rear, unable to shake the dread feeling in her chest. Both her rift mark and Shard pulsed, and she took a deep, deep breath. For all her bravado, the Nightmare’s goading had cut deep, and she couldn’t get its words out of her head.

_And what did Justinia mean, ‘his taunts weren’t without foundation’?_

Such thoughts still plagued her when they arrived at the foot of the rift. A raised platform of rock made up the ground, its edges dropping into nothingness. Crowns of spiked rock grew around the sides, like petrified trees locked in twisted torment. A gap was visible on the other side, leading to a hill that touched the heart of the rift. The way out.

**_“Welcome, Herald!”_ **

The Nightmare’s voice ripped through the air, and a corner of the rocks exploded. Lahara snarled, clenching her fists as a huge spider-like creature broke through the debris. It walked on spindly legs attached to a bulbous body, and what looked like the corpse of a man was stuck to one of them. It lumbered onto the platform, and the corpse’s eyes snapped open, glowing with red emptiness.

 ** _“Your time has come,”_** the Nightmare proclaimed. **_“If not by my hand, then by the hand of the Shard that taints your soul! It will destroy you, and you will disappear from the memories of those you love and never return!”_**

“I’ve heard enough!” Lahara spat, swallowing the misgivings in her chest. “You want to see a true nightmare, then have _this_!”

She thrust out her palm, letting the mark draw power from the Fade. Her bracelet glowed, but before the final sliver of silver disappeared, she released the energy. The shockwave was brutal, snaring the Nightmare’s body and severing two of its legs. Iron Bull and Cassandra yelled, seizing the opening and striking any piece of exposed flesh they could find. Cole circled the demon, attacking where he could, and Nathaniel shot arrows like a madman, peppering the creature’s body.

The Nightmare groaned, sagging on its legs. Thick gobbets of blood and slime pooled down its back, and the corpse let out a shriek.

 ** _“You cannot defeat me!”_** It lashed out, swiping Iron Bull and Cassandra aside. The two cried out, losing hold of their weapons and hitting the wall of stone. Iron Bull grunted, managing to clutch one of the twisted pillars, and with his free hand he grabbed Cassandra before she would fall. The Seeker’s face was bloody, and she gasped, holding her right arm dead still.

Lahara swore. She bolted, reaching out to help, but a claw stomped in front, blocking her path.

 ** _“My, is that all it takes to overcome the great Herald of Andraste?”_** the Nightmare laughed. **_“Your Shard could erase me in an instant! Are you truly afraid of your own power?”_**

“Not falling for it!” Lahara growled. Her eyes fell to Cassandra’s fallen sword, which was just out of reach. She met eyes with Cole, and he nodded.

The boy charged, driving his dagger deep into the Nightmare’s rear leg. The demon bellowed, its body sagging, and Nathaniel fired; a poisoned arrow right into its eyes. Lahara winced, the volume of the creature’s screams blowing out her eardrums as she retrieved the sword. With the Nightmare blind, she ran straight to its main body, plunging Cassandra’s blade in its heart.

The Nightmare shrieked, rearing like a panicked horse. Lahara passed through its flailing legs, skidding to the platform edge and extending her hand. Cassandra snatched it, freeing Iron Bull so he could pull himself up. Lahara heaved, dragging the Seeker to solid ground. Cassandra whimpered, still not moving her right arm.

 ** _“Treacherous fools!”_** The Nightmare retreated, throwing back its head. **_“My servants, aid your master! Destroy the Herald!”_**

“It’s calling for reinforcements!” Nathaniel yelled. “I’ll distract it. Everyone get to the rift!”

“No!” Lahara cried. “I’m not leaving you behind!”

“I won’t let it control the Wardens anymore!” Nathaniel shot back. “Get back to Adamant, help the ones who’re still left!”

“You can’t…”

Lahara was cut off as the ground trembled, an army of Pride and Rage demons blustering through the pass. There were too many to even count, and now her bracelet was completely gold. She had nothing left to draw on.

“Come on, Boss!” Iron Bull draped Cassandra’s arm over his shoulder, racing to the rift. Cole dashed behind them, slipping through the gap.

Meanwhile the Nightmare groaned, struggling to right itself. Nathaniel however stood his ground, drawing a fresh arrow. Lahara bit her lip, about to run to him, when the Nightmare struck the floor. Its claw ripped clean through the rock, creating a chasm and forcing her back.

“ _Nathaniel!_ ” Lahara shrieked, her eyes filling with tears. “Fall back, that’s an _order_!”

“I’m sorry, Lara.” Nathaniel took a breath, facing the demon platoon. “Tell Beth I’m going to miss her, and Alistair, too. And tell Yara…” He stopped himself. “No, tell _Elissa_ that I’m sorry for what my father did to her, and that our debt is repaid.” He stood tall, his arrow aimed at the first Pride demon. “The honour of the Howes is finally restored.”

Lahara cried his name again, but a hand snared her wrist, and she was dragged into the rift.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And finally it’s time for a catch up…starting with Elissa.

_A sky of smoke hangs high, casting bleakness over the wilderness before me. It is little but crumbled mountains and earth, no trace of life in any direction. The air is arid, burning my throat and cracking my lips. It hurts to breathe, to think, to feel, but still I keep walking. I have walked the endless desert for so very long, yet nothing changes. It only extends into emptiness, revealing no escape._

_No hope._

_Yet those embers have yet to die inside me. I raise one foot, then the other, again and again and again. Every path has to end. This can be no different. So all I know is the rhythm of my steps, guiding me to no-where._

_I do not even remember my name._

_The landscape narrows, turning to a slim trail. Only the black abyss awaits below, cast in the same smoky shadows that whisper above. I continue on, stepping onto a bridge of rock. The wind picks up, sending my hair into chaos, and I brush it aside. The breeze also shifts the mist, revealing several islands akin to mine._

_And then, at long last, the path ends. A towering gate of obsidian waits for me, intimidating, lifeless. I stare, unsure what to make of it. I pass my hand through, and nothing happens. My breath catches._

_Is this truly the…end?_

_Suddenly the gate flares to life. I step back, mesmerized, when a shadow appears. I brace myself, and the shadow walks free of the light. Before me stands a woman in white robes. Her hood is pulled low, so I cannot see her face properly, but her skin is pale, and a lock of black hair has fallen free. A smile creases her lips._

**_Remember me, errant warrior?_ **

_I frown. Her voice is…familiar, but the memory is so distant as to not even be present._

_“I’m no warrior,” I declare._

_The woman chuckles._

**_It is not all you are, no,_ ** _she concedes. **But you have forgotten much, and it has left you weak and lonely. As it did the time we first met.**_

_Her tone sends a shiver down my spine. She may recollect that encounter, and I can feel my soul does, too, but…_

_“How can I remember?” I ask._

**_You cannot,_ ** _the woman says, **so long as our power is incomplete.**_

_She points to my chest, and a rune appears on my skin. It ignites, and I cry out, clasping my hands around it._

**_Unite the Shards,_ ** _the woman instructed, **and bring us back to life!**_

_A gale stirs, and her hood flies open. I gawk, a scream trapped in my throat…_

_…for I am looking at **myself**_.

* * *

 

Elissa grunted, jerked to wakefulness. But she couldn’t open her eyes, and she could barely move. Every limb was a dead weight, and sharp pain pierced between her shoulder-blades. Biting back a wince, she focused on her other senses, hoping they would orientate her. The air numbed her ears, but she was well wrapped up, and something warm was locked around her waist. The rhythmic movement of being on horseback also transmitted through her, and that was when she noticed her wrists were bound.

“We’re here.” Alistair’s breath tickled her cheek—it seemed he was the one holding her. Elissa tried to answer, but her lips couldn’t form words.

“Wait for me.” Bethany sounded so, so weary. “The hypnotic spell should hold, but don’t let her go. I’ll find Eliza.”

Elissa heard the mage dismount, then crunch across snow. With the weather being like this, they must have returned to Skyhold. But Elissa couldn’t remember the journey. In fact, she couldn’t remember much at all. A heavy fog blanketed her thoughts, and she inwardly grimaced. Bethany’s spell must have left her like this.

_But why did they tie me up?_

“What in the Maker’s name…what happened?!”

Leliana’s voice broke through, and Alistair’s grip tightened.

“Don’t wake her,” he warned. “Elissa’s alive and mostly unhurt, but…” He let out a breath. “Look, for the time-being, we have to keep her guarded. She’s under some sort of mind control, she doesn’t recognise us as her friends.”

Leliana gasped.

“Are you certain? Can it be broken?”

“Bethany’s been trying ever since we left Stonewar,” Alistair said. “Maybe Lara or Dorian might have better luck.”

“Dorian is on a mission still, but Lara is recovering from her journey to Adamant,” Leliana said. “Though…she might not be in the best way right now.”

“Adamant?” Alistair tensed. “Why was the Inquisition at the old Warden stronghold? I thought you were dealing with affairs in Orlais.”

Leliana sighed. “Orlais is the least of our problems right now. And Nathaniel was looking for you, so we opted to aid him in your stead.” She licked her lips. “Alas it has been a difficult time, for all of us.” She touched Elissa’s wrist. “Let us see to Elissa, then we can exchange stories.”

Elissa felt Alistair’s hold tighten, and then she was lifted into his arms. He dismounted, and she listened to his footfalls as he carried her…somewhere. Maker, if only she could _see_!

“Not the healing quarters,” Alistair said. “Not until we can get her out of the spell. She’ll attack anyone on sight. We have to keep her secure.”

Words fell away, letting cold silence take over. The frosty breeze vanished, replaced by the scent of smoking torches. Eventually Alistair stopped, and the creak of iron bars echoed. His warmth left Elissa, replaced with a blanket, and she was propped against an icy wall.

“I will watch her,” Leliana stated. “You must be exhausted. Go and rest.”

“Be careful,” Alistair said. “And thanks.”

A hand took Elissa’s own, squeezing tight, before it vanished. Alistair’s steps drifted away, leaving everything in quiet once more. It was shortly broken, however, as something rustled close, and a warm hand came to Elissa’s cheek. The caress was enough to lift some of the haze, and at long last Elissa could open her eyes.

As the blur lessened, Leliana’s grey-blue gaze stared back. She offered a tentative smile.

“I’m here, _mon_ _coeur_ ,” she murmured, not letting up her touches.

Elissa managed the smallest of nods, as Leliana pulled her to her chest. The bard gently stroked her back, and Elissa began to shiver. Her chest burned, her throat became impossibly tight, and bitter tears started to fall.

“What’s wrong?” Leliana asked.

Elissa could only shake her head, suddenly trembling. A cavernous wound had opened inside; a deep, indescribable ache that set her heart bleeding. The hurt was immeasurable, smothering, suffocating—a nightmare from which she could not escape. But she couldn’t for the life of her remember _why_. Even her Shard wept, sending chilling pulses through her, as if in mourning.

_What have I done?_

“Oh Elissa.” Leliana kissed Elissa’s forehead, and Elissa closed her eyes, crying into the bard’s shoulder. Leliana held the back of her head, resting her cheek in Elissa’s hair. “Hush. You’re with me now. It will be alright.”

Elissa bit her lip, the salt of her tears burning her cheeks, her breaths coming in staggered gasps.

_No…_

_It will **never** be alright._

* * *

 

Lahara was curled up on her bed, resting her head on her knees. Eliza’s lyrium transfusion had finished a while ago, muting the agony from her Shard, yet she still didn’t feel much better. Nathaniel’s loss had hit hard enough; however, it was what happened _afterwards_ that shook her to the core. Before Lahara could help him, Justinia had re-appeared and dragged her to the rift. And in those final moments, she had whispered a terrifying truth.

_“The Shard will not simply kill you, young mage. It will **destroy** you, wiping your soul from existence entirely. And…your time…runs short…”_

Lahara shivered, folding her arms around herself. The Nightmare had spoken the very same; a truth she’d suspected, though hadn’t realised how far-reaching its consequence. The price of her power had at last been revealed—and it was one she couldn’t bear.

_I don’t…_

_I don’t want to die…_

She snapped her eyes shut, her bracelet jingling as she dug her nails into her palm. The mere thought stole all the breath from her lungs, and she held her head in her hands. Death had always lurked in the back of her mind, but it had never really been a tangible thing. On the run from the Templars, surviving the Conclave, the dust monsters, the dark future, even the fall of Haven; every close escape had instilled false confidence that nothing could touch her, or even could.

Now that was rudely shattered, and never had she feared dying so much. Not when she had no idea how much time she had left. Not when she wouldn’t simply die, but be erased as if she had never been. And not when she still had so much—and someone—to live for.

_How…_

_How am I going to tell Beth?_

_And if I disappear, what’s going to happen to Joseph?_

_Will you break apart into nothingness as well?_

_I can’t…_

A knock echoed, breaking her thoughts. No sooner had it faded than the door opened, and steps approached. Lahara didn’t move, not caring that her caller hadn’t awaited a response. It was probably Eliza coming to check on her.

“Lara?”

Bethany’s soft tones drifted through, and Lahara snapped her head up. The dark-haired mage was indeed standing before her, but when their eyes met, the Herald’s heart only broke further. Bethany’s caramel gaze was dulled, and her whole body sang with weariness. She was hurting, too.

Sighing, Bethany crossed the distance to Lahara’s bedside. A brief silence took over, until Bethany clasped Lahara’s hand. The warmth of her palm provoked more tears, and Lahara looked away, the ache in her chest redoubling. She had wanted to see Bethany more than anything, feel her touch and hear her voice, but when it came with the realisation she’d soon never have any of it again…

“Is everything okay?” Bethany asked.

Lahara remained quiet. Reluctantly she released the mage’s hand, wiping her tears. Then she straightened up, coming to the edge of the bed. Bethany sat beside her, and Lahara wrapped an arm around her waist. They held each other for a long moment, when Bethany touched the Herald’s cheek.

“Something’s wrong, I know,” the mage said. “It’s the Shard, isn’t it?”

Lahara managed a nod. A lump had settled in her throat, and she wasn’t sure she could trust her voice. She inhaled, meaning to answer, but Bethany pressed her finger to the Herald’s lips.

“It’s okay.” Bethany kissed Lahara’s forehead. “You don’t have to tell me right now.” She entwined her fingers with the Herald’s, squeezing gently. “It’s…It’s not been good for Elissa, either.”

Another nod, and Lahara swallowed, stroking Bethany’s side. The poor mage had had it rough, indeed. And, as the implications of Justinia’s wisdom began to spread, this was only the start. For if the Shard was ripping _Lahara’s_ soul apart, it could not be doing any different to Elissa, or Hawke. And poor Bethany was caught right in the middle.

_She’s…going to lose… **everyone** …_

The weight of such realisation was even more of a crushing blow, and Lahara’s tears returned. A choked sob escaped her, and she burrowed into Bethany’s chest, clinging to her scent and warmth. Bethany tensed, caught off guard, but quickly returned the embrace.

“I’m here,” the mage murmured.

“I’m…sorry,” Lahara whispered, her tears unstoppable. “I’ll…everything…I just…I need this…right now…” She held Bethany tighter, trembling. “I need… _you_ right now…”

She withdrew slightly, then pressed her lips to Bethany’s. Bethany closed her eyes, cupping the Herald’s cheek, tenderly stroking with her thumb. Their kiss deepened, and Lahara’s breath caught, hungering for the mage’s touch. One she hadn’t yearned for as badly as she did now. Her fingers roamed, skimming over Bethany’s hips, pulling her close.

“I love you,” Lahara breathed, resting her brow against Bethany’s.

“I love you too, Lara,” Bethany murmured, running her fingers down Lahara’s shoulders. “So very much.”

Lahara blinked away her tears, framing the mage’s face with her hands. Though her eyes were lined with exhaustion, her caramel gaze slightly dimmed, Bethany was still as beautiful as ever. Another crack ran through the Herald’s chest, and she bit her lip.

_How…how can I possibly let her go…_

_How can I do this to her?!_

“I’m sorry,” Lahara whimpered, crumpling against Bethany’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry…”

“Lara…” Bethany took Lahara’s hand, holding it against her chest. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll find a way out. I promise.”

She leant forward, capturing the Herald in another kiss, and Lahara gave in. Forget the past, forget the future, forget it all; all that mattered was this moment right now. With her blood roaring through her veins, the heat of Bethany’s lips against hers, the feel of her in her arms…

Her arms laced around Bethany, and she pulled her onto the bed. The fire of her lips against the mage’s only rose, and her fingers made short work of Bethany’s shirt. Bethany’s moved just the same, her every movement filled with equal desire. Lahara’s hands knew no manners, touching and exploring, the mage’s warmth fanning the inferno in her chest.

She broke their kiss, softly tracing Bethany’s throat with a finger. Bethany shivered, resting her palms against Lahara’s chest.

“I’ve missed you,” Bethany whispered, stealing a tender kiss.

“Me too,” Lahara murmured back. “So let me make it up to you.”


	17. Chapter 17

The first rays of dawn broke through the clouds, glinting off the new memorial stone in the Skyhold garden. The pink granite was finely polished, and Elissa’s gaze lingered on its intricate griffin carvings. A series of candles had been lit around it, and she placed her own with them. As she rose, her eyes skimmed the name _Nathaniel Howe_ , and she let out a breath. For so many years they had been close friends, never realising the ties of history that bound them even closer. She had not seen him since recovering her memories, but had never considered that would have been their last meeting. Yet another familiar face now lost, and it deepened the hollow ache in her chest.

_How much more was going to be taken from her?_

“Nathaniel was always honourable and true to his duties,” Alistair said, as he, Leliana, Lahara and Bethany also stood beside the stone. “He was a good man, and a damn fine Warden. He will not be forgotten.” He shook his head. “I should never have sent him in my place. I could’ve reasoned with Clarel, stopped this madness…”

“If she was so quick to silence Stroud, you would have undoubtedly met a similar fate,” Leliana countered. “At least the Wardens still have a Commander outside of Weisshaupt. They would never have agreed to ally with us otherwise.”

“Maybe,” Alistair murmured. “I’m just…so very tired of this.”

His words set off a pang in Elissa’s chest, and she bit her lip. Learning of Nathaniel’s loss had shaken her enough, but remembering what had happened to Kieran was an even harder blow. Guilt and shame gnawed inside, relentless, and at times she couldn’t bring herself to look at Alistair. Not when she could still picture it so clearly; the Corruption spilling from her hands, consuming all it touched, trapping the helpless child in an abyss of darkness.

_And all because Flemeth had been pulling her strings from the very beginning._

The thought ignited a spark of rage, but before it caught, a warm touch brushed her arm. Elissa let out the breath she had been holding, leaning closer to Leliana. She yet to tell the bard the full details, but now she was back to normal, she would spare her nothing.

“The Maker smiles sadly upon His Grey Wardens,” Bethany said, “as no sacrifice is greater than ours.” She stepped forward and touched the stone. “And I’m sure He’s smiling on Nathaniel now, for what he’s done. For all of us. I’m going to miss him.”

“He did more than he needed,” Lahara said quietly. “Far too much, in fact.”

She shifted on her feet, holding her right hand close. She had been quite fidgety all morning, and Elissa sensed something was troubling her; more than just Nathaniel’s sacrifice.

“Sounds just like Nathaniel,” Alistair mused, resting his hand on his hip. Silence fell for a moment, until he cleared his throat. “Thanks for arranging this, Lara. I’ll see he gets a full Warden’s honours once I get back to Amaranthine.”

“He deserves way better,” Lahara murmured, clenching her jaw. “If I’d had a single fragment of magic left…”

“Lara.” Bethany’s voice was stern. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yeah, I know.” Lahara rubbed the bracelet on her wrist. “But his sacrifice isn’t going to be in vain. He’s not only bought us time, but dealt a huge blow to Corypheus. And I’m not going to waste any of it.”

“You have something in mind?” Alistair asked.

The Herald nodded, standing tall.

“I’m done reacting to whatever that bastard throws at us,” she said, bunching her left hand into a fist. “He always makes the first move, and I’ve had enough of playing second fiddle. It’s time for the hunted to become the hunter.” Her gaze hardened. “He’s lost his Red Templars, we kept him from the mages and Orlesian army, and now he’s lost his enthralled Wardens, too. This is our best chance to strike him down for good.”

“I’d agree with that,” Alistair said, “but do you know where he’s hiding?”

“That search is ever narrowing,” Leliana reported. “Corypheus’s losses have shaken many of his followers, and they have been careless concealing their trails. My scouts are following promising leads. I am certain one will bear fruit.”

“And what would you do then, Lara?” Elissa asked. “Confront him directly?”

“The Inquisition isn’t the fledgling shambles it was in Haven,” Lahara said. “We have the support of Orlais and the Wardens, not to mention the mages and our own soldiers. I’d say our chances are better than good.” She rubbed her eyes. “But there’s still a few things we need to talk about before we go charging anywhere.” She stretched out her right hand, where the rune flickered. Elissa’s own Shard prickled in response, and she bit back a wince. “About the Shards, and about what Corruption _really_ is.”

Elissa tensed.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“It’s a long story,” Lahara began. “And I’m sure you’ve got a lot to tell me, too, but this is important.” She gave a brief stretch. “See, in the Fade, I found my…”

“Inquisitor, Inquisitor!”

A shout echoed from the rear of the gardens. Lahara blinked. Everyone turned, watching as one of the gate guards came rushing towards them. The messenger stumbled over the portico steps, finally halting before the group.

“Inquisitor,” she said, resting her hands on her thighs as she caught her breath, “sorry to disturb, but Hawke’s companions have returned, and they are desperate to talk to you.”

“Companions?” Bethany frowned. “Isn’t Amber with them?”

“The Champion isn’t here, no,” the messenger said, “but Ser Varric and his elf mage friend insisted they had to speak with the Inquisitor right away. There’s something coming!”

A surge of dread flooded Elissa’s stomach.

_Maker, not Amber as well…_

Lahara, too, had her brow creased in concern.

“Take them to the war room right away,” she said. “I’ll meet them there.”

The messenger bowed, then sped away. Elissa watched her leave, before turning to Bethany. The mage’s face was pale, and she held herself rigid. Lahara quickly noticed as well, and she took Bethany’s hand.

“You’re coming too, Beth,” the Herald said. “And you Elissa, Alistair. Whatever Varric and Merrill have to say, I’m sure we all need to hear it.”

“Then Cullen and Josephine should be present as well,” Leliana said. “I will send for them.”

“Thanks,” Lahara said. “See you there.”

Squaring her jaw, she led the group back into the fort. Leliana gave Elissa’s wrist a squeeze, before she peeled away, hobbling along with her nightingale cane. Elissa swallowed, her pulse thrumming in her ears. Her Shard quivered, and she bit her lip. All number of terrible things could have happened, and they scrambled through her mind. Had Hawke been badly hurt, or fallen to Corruption, or been trapped, or even…

“Heads up, Herald!”

Varric’s voice carried across the courtyard, and Lahara hesitated. Not a moment later, a deafening screech tore through the sky, and the residents of Skyhold flew into panic. Soldiers fumbled for their weapons, civilians and merchants ran for cover, but though Elissa scoured the air, all seemed clear. Then a rush of wind sped past, and her Shard became a pinprick of white-hot pain. Gasping, she staggered into a wall, sweat forming on her brow.

The shriek came again, much closer. Elissa froze. It was so difficult to see, but she _felt_ something nearby, raking its gaze over her and leaving her chilled to the bone.

“East wall, three o’clock!” Alistair shouted, his blade drawn. “What…what the hell is that thing?!”

Swallowing back her pain, Elissa righted herself and looked up. Now she could see it; a huge shadow looming on the ramparts, sprawled like a dragon waiting to strike. Its body was lithe and coiled, entirely black and moulting dust fragments that sparkled red in the sunlight. Two broad wings spread from its back, but it had nothing resembling a head. Only a giant gaping mouth ended at what might have been its neck, and it continued to bellow, its tail cleaving the surrounding stone.

Lahara gawked.

“Is that a dust monster?!” she exclaimed.

“Worse,” Varric called, hurrying from the courtyard with Merrill in tow. “It’s an Executioner!”

“It must have followed us!” Merrill’s eyes were puffy and red. “But without Amber…”

“ _What happened to my sister_?!” Bethany shrieked.

“It was Corypheus!” Merrill squeaked, her tears renewing. “He…We thought we’d killed him, but then he…Anders…”

A thunderous roar cut her off, and the Executioner leapt from its perch. For a moment its wings blotted out all light, when it slammed into the open courtyard. Rippling tremors tore through, almost enough for Elissa to lose her balance, and then it lumbered towards the main keep. Several soldiers bolted into its path, only to be swept aside like toys.

“You can explain later,” Lahara said, charging her Shard. “We have to destroy it!”

She broke into a sprint, her right hand ablaze. However, when she came close enough to strike, the creature reared, taking to the air. Another wingbeat sent Elissa’s hair into her eyes, and she scowled. From the ramparts the archers yelled, letting loose a barrage of arrows. Every one slipped right through, and the Executioner flung out its tail, gouging out a chunk of stone from a guard tower.

“Damn it, we have to ground it!” Alistair yelled.

A cry from the newly built mage’s tower echoed, and Elissa gasped. A group of mages stood on the upper balcony, and they threw out lances of thunder and fire. Her eyes widened.

“No!” she yelled. “Don’t attack it with magic!”

Her warning was too late. The spells sank into the Executioner’s belly, and it rumbled, as if finishing a heavy meal. Then it shook itself, and a mane of fire appeared on its back. The flames licked up and down, and the creature opened its gaping mouth, releasing a burst of lightning. It struck the edge of the tower, and the mages fell back in retreat. The monster growled, still airborne, turning its eerie faceless neck to Elissa.

Snarling, Elissa drew her sword.

“Alistair, Beth, help get everyone out of here,” she ordered. “Lara, try to flank it, then we’ll take it together!”

“Gotcha!” Lahara dashed to the rampart steps. Elissa ran the other way, climbing the opposite wall onto the connecting bridge. The Executioner bawled, snapping its neck from side to side as it determined which prey to pursue.

“Hey ugly!” Lahara cupped her hands to her mouth. “How are you supposed to hit anything if you haven’t got any eyes?”

The Executioner howled, twisting in mid-air for a dive. Lahara braced herself, her right hand glowing. The distraction was all Elissa needed, and she bolted. Before the creature could react, she jumped over the rail, slamming her sword between its wings, the rune on her chest sparking white.

The Executioner screamed, its fiery mane vanishing. It lost height and thrashed, trying with all its might to remove the agony in its back. Elissa clung on for dear life, digging the blade deeper, twisting the hilt as hard as she could.

At last the beast groaned, collapsing to the ground. Elissa released her sword, then plunged her hands into the creature’s torso, scouring for the core. Yet her fingers grasped at nothing. Her eyes widened, her palms searching frantically, but the chance was lost. The Executioner staggered to its feet, then violently jerked, throwing Elissa into the courtyard. She gasped, scraping her shoulder against the frosted ground.

“Elissa!” Bethany was there in an instant. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m alright,” Elissa hissed, forcing herself back to her feet. “But…it doesn’t have a core…”

“What?” Bethany clenched her jaw. “Then how are we…”

She was cut off by the cries of more soldiers; they had regrouped and were making a full-on charge. The Executioner slashed through the first rank, but the others were able to get close enough to wound it. Iron Bull and Cassandra were amongst them, carving chunks of dust from the monster’s body. The red speckles flew into the wind, and the creature seemed to flag. As the soldiers pressed their advantage, however, it suddenly took to the air once more, flinging out its wings and slicing through the connecting bridge. The soldiers scrambled, trying to avoid the falling debris, though not all were so lucky.

“Damn it!” Iron Bull swore, brushing rubble from his shoulders. “Why didn’t your trick work, Elissa?”

“It doesn’t have a core!” Elissa snapped. “There’s nothing for my Shard to…”

“Not quite,” a new, yet very familiar Tevinter accent suddenly broke in. “Just hang on!”

Elissa blinked, glancing up. Dorian and Solas were weaving through the damaged courtyard towards them. Both looked exhausted, and Solas was holding a scroll, looking particularly grave.

“Sorry we’re late,” Dorian puffed, holding a hand to his chest. “But it’s not over yet.”

“Care to share, Vint?” Iron Bull asked.

“Pfft, I do wish you’d stop calling me that,” Dorian sighed.

“Heh, that’s not what you said in bed before you left,” Iron Bull chuckled. “I’ve missed ya.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, though they still sparkled with amusement.

“Elissa, you and Lahara need to attack that creature in unison,” Solas explained. “The two Shards in harmony will be enough for you to dispel its core.”

“And you know this because…?” Elissa raised a brow.

“We’ll have a long chat over tea afterwards, I promise,” Dorian said, “but there won’t be enough of Skyhold left if you don’t act right away.” He faced Iron Bull. “Any chance you could try and hold that beast still, Bull, give our Herald and Hero an easier target?”

“Hmph, sure, though it takes most of the fun out if it,” Iron Bull scoffed. He squared his shoulders. “Chargers, on me! We’re going to tie that bastard down!”

“Inquisition, help them!” Cassandra shouted, and a mad rush ensued. Still the Executioner hovered, starting to circle the turrets.

Elissa ran through the debris-strewn courtyard, managing to scale the broken staircase to the rampart where Lahara remained. The Herald was covered in score marks and her hair was a mess, but her mismatched eyes remained determined.

“What’s going on?” she asked, brushing her cheek. “Couldn’t you find its core?”

“No,” Elissa said, “but Solas is confident if we attack it together, we can still destroy it.”

“He’s back?” Lahara blinked. “Well, he usually knows what he’s talking about. Not like we have any other plan, anyway.”

“The others are going to try and get it on the ground again,” Elissa explained.

“Right.” Lahara clenched her fist. “I’m ready.”

Jaw tense, Elissa stood beside the Herald, watching the Executioner. It remained at the height of the towers, but below the courtyard was a flurry of activity. Several soldiers were clearing the debris, while four more along with Varric carried modified crossbows. Each of those were bundled with coils of thick rope. They formed a circle around the courtyard, while Iron Bull, Cassandra and the Chargers stood in the centre.

Iron Bull raised his axe, emitting a loud rumble from his throat. The Executioner sent an answering groan, deigning to descend a little. Cassandra brandished her sword, her teeth bared.

“Come get us, then!” Iron Bull goaded.

The creature snarled, finally breaking into a dive. Its aim was dead-on, but Iron Bull and Cassandra met its charge unflinching. The monster collided into their weapons, and Cassandra dropped her shield, shifting her sword and thrusting it into its shoulder. Iron Bull hacked into its neck, before throwing himself over it, trying to pin it to the ground.

“Now!” Cassandra bellowed.

The crossbows fired almost all at the same time, the ropes furling around the creature’s neck, shoulders, chest and back. The Chargers sprang, snatching the stray pieces and fastening them into deadly knots. The Executioner flapped its wings, screaming, but it was trapped.

“Won’t hold,” Elissa said. “Go!”

Together she and Lahara ran across the rampart, their steps in perfect rhythm. At the edge they leapt, Lahara’s right hand entwined with Elissa’s left. A surge broke from the Shards, turning Elissa’s fingers into pure white, and they landed right on top of the creature. A rope snapped, but it wasn’t enough, as the pair drove their hands through its spine. Elissa grimaced—it was like raking through freezing slime—but then she finally clasped something solid and hot.

Forcefully she and Lahara ripped it away, pulling free a glowing core of blue light. Elissa made to crush it, when it abruptly turned lifeless. Her Shard shuddered, and she gasped, dropping to her knees. Lahara also cried out, hugging her right hand to her chest.

Elissa felt her vision darken, and that horrible, snarling rage-fire stirred within. Icy terror flooded her, and she gripped the ground, clawing her fingers into the dirt. _No, she couldn’t lose control, not again, not again!_

Steps crunched nearby, and a supportive hand held her shoulder.

“Stay with us, Elissa,” Alistair said. “The creature’s gone, you did it.”

Elissa weakly nodded, focusing on her breathing, Alistair’s touch, the bitter air, the scent of spent lightning; anything to keep her from slipping into the shadows. Several tense minutes passed, when eventually the burning began to calm. The rune on her chest jittered, and Elissa swallowed, daring to relax her shoulders.

_Far too close…_

Lahara, however, had tears in her eyes. She looked like she was going to be sick. Her bracelet had turned almost completely gold, and her whole body was pale and quivering. Bethany swiftly took her in her arms, cradling her against her shoulder.

“This…is not good,” Dorian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Tell me about it,” Varric muttered. His voice was subdued, and had completely lost its jovial tone.

“We are going to need quite the catch-up, indeed,” Solas said.

“Once Lara’s better,” Bethany interjected, curling her arm around the Herald. “Come on, I’ll take you to Eliza.” She made to lift Lahara, but the Herald shook her head.

“No.” Gently she pushed Bethany away, managing to sit up on her own. “Can’t delay. Need to know what’s going on.”

“But…”

“I can handle it,” Lahara insisted, grabbing a lyrium bottle from her pouch. “Everyone, war room. Now.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the long long hiatus, I’ve just lost all interest in the story and Dragon Age in general, it seemed to evaporate overnight for some reason. However I do absolutely want to get this story going again and get it finished, so here goes nothing!
> 
> Alas this is going to be exposition-heavy so apologies in advance…

 

Elissa lay curled in the alcove of her quarters, her cheek upon her knee, gazing at the night sky. A storm of cloud had swirled up, blotting out the stars, but her stare never wavered. She should have long been asleep, exhausted from the day’s battle. Yet how could she, when all that lingered was the phantom of Bethany’s face as Varric and Merrill had broken the devastating news? The way colour had drained from her cheeks, the horror in her caramel eyes, the stunned silence that had spread through the entire Inquisition; all of it stuck in Elissa’s mind, tightening the knot in her stomach.

_“Corypheus captured Amber, and now he can control her Shard.”_

The thought sparked a dark fire inside, and Elissa clenched her teeth. The rune on her chest pulsed with heat, and she let out a slow, controlled breath. The shadow-rage snarled, dangerously close to the surface, before it thankfully quieted. Swallowing, Elissa pressed her fingers against the Shard, the skin numb and tingling. It hurt enough to have lost Hawke, to see Bethany crushed like when she had lost her mother, yet the maddening fury it provoked pained Elissa even more. A single ripple of anger and that tiny flame-flicker would explode into an inferno. An all-consuming unstoppable storm of hatred and destruction that took all of Elissa’s willpower to keep in check.

She let her head fall back against the alcove wall, closing her eyes. It was not so long ago she had seen the reach of that bloodlust first-hand, enough to summon a firestorm that razed the world, until Zevran had stepped in. Now whatever Megara—no, _Flemeth—_ had done meant Elissa was vulnerable to the same rage again. She had already killed an innocent while under its influence. And had already proven that no-one had the strength to oppose her should it happen once more.

Shaking her head, Elissa returned her gaze to the clouds. No, she was stronger than this—she would rather destroy herself than risk her friends and allies like that. Yet regardless of her resolve, nothing washed away the bitter taste of failure. She had set out to find answers, yet all she’d found were deeper mysteries. And worse still was that without the key to the riddles, it was putting everyone in danger.

She ran her finger through her hair, biting her lip. More of her memories during her torture under Flemeth had returned, amongst them the witch’s admission that she had orchestrated events that led to Elissa becoming a Grey Warden. Yet she had also saved Elissa several times, and the paradox of Flemeth’s motives drove Elissa insane. _Why mar me with the Taint if my survival was integral to her plan? Why keep the power of the Shards secret until I lost my memories? Why build up a secretive cult made to believe in a false prophecy?_

A groan escaped, and Elissa buried her head between her arms. All this, and she hadn’t even touched the confused mess of feelings that gnawed at her core; emotions that without question were her own, and yet at the same time weren’t. It was strikingly similar to when she had woken as Yara, where the remembrance of her past life teased in dreams and visions. But these were far more intense, smothering and excruciating, masking a pain that not even mortals could truly fathom. And it was her first experience of these that had once more echoed a name that was starting to haunt.

“Etro,” Elissa mumbled under her breath, running her thumb across her chin. Three times that name had come to her—babbled by a crazed Hawke in the dark future, chanted by the fanatical cultists, and used to address her by Flemeth. A fallen, forgotten goddess, from what Elissa could deduce, and the single piece that united the puzzle behind everything that had happened. But her quest to learn the shape of this piece, its identity and purpose had stripped her of so much already. And Elissa was beginning to question if such sacrifice was worth it.

 _Just like when I wanted to restore my memories,_ Elissa mused. _A path that was amongst the most gruelling I’ve faced, and one that once taken, I couldn’t retreat from. But for all the pain it caused, it brought me back to Leliana, it brought me back to my friends, and reignited my own purpose._

_I **have** to do this._

Elissa tensed her jaw, before letting out a determined sigh. She would renew her attempts to understand herself on the dawn. No matter what it would take, she was get her answers.

Yawning, she began to unbutton her shirt, when dull steps shuffled from the stairwell. Elissa paused, expecting to catch a lilac hood, but the bleary visage of a certain auburn-haired mage appeared instead.

“Ah, you’re still awake, too,” Lahara said, managing a weak smile. Dark circles lined her mismatched eyes, and she leant heavily on the banister. “Sorry for the late intrusion. Have you got a minute?”

“Of course, Lara,” Elissa answered, rebuttoning her shirt. She hesitated, shifting position. “How’s…How’s Beth?”

“Just about got her off to sleep,” Lahara said, sitting on Elissa’s bed. Her jaw clenched, and the Shard on her hand glowed. “That unholy _bastard_ is going to pay for this. When we meet again, I’m going to sunder his corpse into so many pieces that every single demon in the Fade will get to feast on one!”

“He deserves worse.” Elissa clamped her fingers to a fist, the flashback of the dark future not far from her thoughts. “But whatever Corypheus has done to Amber, there has to be a way to reverse it. Our Shards are linked, after all, and we still have two to his one.”

“Yeah…” Lahara licked her lips, averting her gaze. “There’s something I need to tell you about that. Something that couldn’t wait.”

“Oh?” Elissa sat straighter. “But I heard what you said about your brother in the Fade.”

“I didn’t mention everything.” Lahara let out a slow breath, hesitant. “It’s not…it’s going to cause a lot of distress in everyone if I just share it openly, but you have a Shard, it’s only right you should know.”

Elissa tensed, a shiver running down her spine. She didn’t like where this was heading.

“I’m sure you must know by now that the Shards are killing us.” Lahara’s voice was blunt. “Eliza’s found out my Shard is draining lyrium from my life-force, and it can only be doing the same to you and Amber. You two are a lot more durable than I am, though, so it seems to be happening to me faster.”

“Yes.” Elissa spoke quietly, affirming a truth she had know inside for a while. The sickness, the pain in her chest—she had felt it all adding up, and so Lahara’s observation came as little surprise. Though that did nothing to lessen its sting. Elissa might have resigned herself that the Taint would eventually claim her, but even with that, she would still see a couple more decades. Now her second chance at life and love was going to end as prematurely as the first.

“That would be bad enough on its own,” Lahara went on, “but it gets worse.”

Elissa stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Lahara swallowed, her lyrium collar clicking.

“The spirit of Justinia also told me that the Shard was ripping my soul apart,” she said, her voice flat. “And you know what Joseph told me. The souls of the dead linger in the Fade if they are remembered by the living. But it works the other way around, too. If a person’s soul is destroyed in the Fade, then the memory of them also disappears.” Her lip quivered, and her eyes glistened. “So…so everyone who we know in life won’t remember us. We’ll be wiped from existence, forever. And nobody would even grieve for us, since we won’t be in their memory any longer.”

“No…” Elissa’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hands. “You can’t be telling the truth!”

“Afraid I am,” Lahara said, wiping a stray tear. She took a deep breath, trying to keep composure. “I don’t know…how much time we might have left. But I know that the more we use the Shards, the shorter that gets. And at this rate, we’re talking…months, rather than years.” She clenched her fists, betraying a slight tremor. “I’m sorry.”

Elissa shook her head, drawing her fingertips over the mark on her chest. Another echo of memory came back, and she shivered, Flemeth’s voice so perfectly clear:

_…the Shards are a poison, and it will not be long before they claim your so-called Champion and presumptuous Herald, as well…_

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Elissa countered. She stood and walked to the Inquisitor’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It was for my sake these Shards were unleashed, and it’s my fault you and Amber have to suffer so.” She squeezed Lahara’s bicep. “My life was already shortened because of the Taint. It took a while before I accepted that, but it was during that journey that I realised something important.” She looked Lahara in the eye. “I truly believe the Maker puts us here for a purpose, Lara. And if He deems that we only have a short time, then we must make the most of what we’ve been given.” She squared her shoulders. “We _have_ to get Amber back and stop Corypheus for good.”

Lahara managed a slow nod.

“Still able to find a bright side, huh? That’s not like you, Elissa.” She flashed a grin, though it was very half-hearted. “I guess that’s all we can work for.” She held Elissa’s wrist in gratitude. “Thanks for letting me share this with you. But please don’t tell Beth, or Leliana, or anyone. We can’t take away everyone’s hope, and we can’t let slip to Corypheus that our power isn’t as strong as he thinks it is.”

Elissa nodded, and Lahara was caught by a long yawn.

“Okay, I think I’ve stolen enough of your sleep.” The Inquisitor stood, giving a stretch. “Sleep well, Elissa. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Good night, Lara,” Elissa said.

As Lahara walked to the stairwell, however, another pair of steps echoed up.

“Inquisitor?” Leliana blinked, dressed only in her undershirt and trousers, her armour and hood removed. “Was something the matter?”

“Just had to ask Elissa some Shard stuff,” Lahara said, a mask of self-assuredness dropping down. “Have a good night.”

She bounded down the stairs before Leliana could answer. Bemused, she glanced to Elissa.

“Anything I should know about?” she asked, removing the last of her clothes and clambering into the sheets.

“Nothing you don’t already know,” Elissa said, also discarding her shirt and joining her lover. She softly kissed the bard’s forehead, slipping an arm around her waist.

“Mhmm,” Leliana murmured, sliding her hand to Elissa’s cheek and pulling her into a kiss. “How about we speak of something we know very well…” Her hands moved down Elissa’s neck in a tantalizing stroke, and she followed the line of motion with her lips. Elissa shivered, losing herself to the bard’s touches.

“I’d like that very much,” she whispered, running her hands down Leliana’s bare back. The bard moaned in approval, kissing lower, and Elissa closed her eyes, feeling moisture prickle behind them.

_For someday soon, this language will be dead to you._

* * *

 

“Elissa!”

Merrill’s voice carried from the upper library, and Elissa stopped, looking at the elf mage from the lower ground floor. Merrill smiled and waved. Beside her Dorian was reclining on the banisters, amused at her enthusiasm.

“Can I borrow you for a second?” she asked, not caring for the irked stares of the nearby mages trying to study in peace.

“Sure,” Elissa called back. “What’s the matter?”

“I’ve finished translating the mural that Solas transcribed,” she explained. “You should know what it says.”

“Right.” Elissa jogged up the steps, arriving beside the pair. Solas’s scroll was pinned to a desk, and an elegant flowing script had been inked onto a fresh parchment beside it.

“Merrill’s been burning the midnight oil,” Dorian said. “She’s made more progress in one night than Solas did over a week, and his knowledge is nothing to sneeze at.”

“Ew, who sneezed at Solas?” Merrill wrinkled her nose.

“Er, no-one, it’s just a turn of phrase,” Dorian said.

“Oh, I see,” Merrill said. “Anyway, this is easy when you know the right words. It’s a relatively modern dialect, not very common but one I’ve been taught.” Her voice stilled a little. “Keeper Marethari was very…thorough.”

“I’m surprised Solas struggled so much,” Elissa commented. “His experiences are broader and more detailed that anyone’s I’ve ever known.”

“Hmph, he spends so much time in the Fade he can’t acknowledge what’s right in front of him,” Merrill scoffed. “Our heritage is important, but heritage also evolves. We can’t keep grasping for a past etched in gold.” She sighed. “Amber taught me that.”

Elissa’s gaze softened.

“Show me what you’ve found, then,” she said, hoping to change the subject.

“Oh, um, yes.” Merrill cleared her throat and began to read. _“The judgement for your forgotten crime will begin when the earth screams darkness, when the wells of the guardian’s light-blood run dry and fragmented monsters devour your creation.”_

“Sounds like great fun,” Dorian quipped. “As all prophecies are.”

“I don’t think that sounds fun at all,” Merrill said. “I don’t like screaming.”

“Me neither,” Elissa admitted, already disquieted at the tone. “Anything else?”

 _“The prize you bound as trophy will shatter into freedom,_ ” Merrill went on, _“willing to deliver retribution as demanded by the cosmos and restore balance lost. Yet if without form or vessel your punishment remains, the end of all things; the hungry storm will consume eternity, and shadowfire and darkness will blight your reign and return everything to nothing.”_

“It’s predicting the end of the world,” Elissa realised. “Though I don’t understand what it’s saying will come to pass.”

“We didn’t make much head or tail of it either, but that wasn’t the only thing we wanted to bring to your attention,” Dorian said. “See what Solas wrote underneath.”

He tapped the translated parchment, and Elissa followed his finger.

“Those are names,” she murmured. “The first is…” Her eyes widened. “ _Andraste_? As in the prophet herself?”

“Yes,” Dorian said. “See, the next is Vivial, her daughter who made the controversial move of marrying a Tevinter.”

“That’s right,” Elissa said. “The next is…Chrysella?” She chewed her lip, noticing surnames start to appear as well. “This is a record of lineage!”

“Yes,” Dorian said. “Probably worth a fortune, had we been able to save the mural. Alas Corruption got to it first.”

“The last one says, ‘ _Alindra Bryland’_ ,” Merrill said. “She sounds lovely. Do you know of her?”

Elissa froze, as if an arrow if pure ice had struck her soul. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the name, and her breath caught in her chest.

_No…_

**_No_ ** _**way** …_

“Elissa?” Dorian raised a brow. “What’s wrong?”

Elissa swallowed the lump in her throat, her mouth suddenly parched. It couldn’t be true, and yet there it was, right in front of her.

“Alindra Bryland…” Her voice was scarcely above a whisper. “…was my grandmother.”

“Really?” Merrill whistled in awe. “Then that means…”

“…you’re a living descendant of the prophet herself?!” Dorian exclaimed. “Wow! And I thought you had enough claims to fame already, Elissa.” He let out a chortle, looking back to the parchment. “That’s some proof of heritage. Although knowing the Chantry they’d still denounce it as heresy, even if we had the mural to back us up…”

Elissa was barely listening, scanning the names once more, the all but forgotten visage of her father’s mother flickering in the back of her mind. She had only ever met Alindra once, when she was six years old, and could vaguely recall a strict but kindly woman who shared her fondness for sweetcakes and had the same hazel eyes as she did.

And if the translation before her was true, that made Alindra the fourteenth descendant of Andraste.

Which meant Elissa was…

“Sixteen,” Elissa whispered, her eyes widening.

_Maker above, was that why Flemeth…_

“Sixteen?” Merrill blinked. “What does that mean?”

Elissa bit her lip. “Nothing.”

“Either way, this has important implications,” Dorian said. “The earth screaming darkness has got to be Corruption. As for the rest of it…”

Before he could continue, armoured steps clattered up the stairs, yelling Elissa’s name. Moments later Alistair burst into view, his face ablaze with excitement. He skidded to a halt, quickly clasping Elissa’s wrist and tugging.

“There you are Elissa, come quick!” he said.

“What happened?” Elissa asked, her heart leaping to her mouth. _Maker, please don’t say it’s another attack…_

“It’s Morrigan,” Alistair answered, “and she’s got Kieran!”

“What?!”

Elissa was already bolting to the stairs before Alistair could answer. She sprinted down the library stairs, breaking straight into the courtyard. A gathering was standing at the edge of the healing compound, and Elissa gasped. A huge black wolf stood at their centre, a bundle strapped to its back. It sported deep wounds on its side and leg, and its tail hung limp with exhaustion. But what it was carrying was no mere bundle. It was a pale, breathing boy, deep in sleep.

“Morrigan!” Elissa pushed past the onlookers to the wolf’s side, instantly recognising its amber eyes. Alistair was right behind her, and together they worked through the knotted ties. Soon Kieran was freed, and Alistair had tears in his eyes as he cradled the boy in his arms.

The wolf shook itself, growling as its injuries caught. It locked eyes with Elissa, when a purple glow engulfed its body. Elissa had to look away, blinded, but when she looked back, Morrigan had returned to her human form. Her hair was dishevelled, her body covered in scrapes and cuts, and the wounds on her side seemed even deeper, caked with dried blood.

“Get me some blankets, and fetch Eliza!” Elissa ordered. The onlookers scrambled, and once the thick wool came to hand Elissa tossed them over Morrigan’s shivering form.

“E…lissa…” Morrigan croaked, fighting to remain awake. “You must…the Arbour…Wilds…”

“Hush,” Elissa said, clasping Morrigan’s hand. “We’ll get you and Kieran seen to. Then you can tell us everything.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More exposition, sorry I didn’t really plan this out all that well but the fun bits are coming I promise…

“Why won’t he wake up?”

Alistair held Kieran’s hand, stroking the boy’s fingers as he lay in bed, breathing soft and even. Elissa stood beside him, a choke-hold of guilt silencing any response she might have had. She watched the rise and fall of Kieran’s chest, biting her lip. For the last few days they had been observing both Morrigan and her son, yet while Morrigan was slowly recovering, Kieran had not once opened his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Eliza said, doing another set of checks on the slumbering child. “His observations are fine, and he’s not been drugged or poisoned as far as I can tell.” She glanced to Elissa. “It reminds me of when you fell into that coma after unlocking the Shards.”

Elissa could only nod, coils of tension wrapped around her chest. Being trapped within herself had been torture enough—she could only imagine how much worse it had to be for Kieran.

“Perhaps, but his spirit isn’t in the Fade,” Bethany remarked, her caramel eyes focused. It seemed keeping herself busy was the best way to keep her own pain at bay. “Even Lara couldn’t find him, and that obsidian gate won’t open again, too.”

“Only way we’ll find out more is to ask his mother,” Eliza stated, glancing to Morrigan. The latter remained asleep, her wounds dressed and colour returning to her face, though she still looked gaunter than when last Elissa had seen her. “Once she’s had a chance to recover, of course.”

Elissa sighed, running a hand through her hair. While she was relieved Kieran had survived, she was still not absolved of her crime. He sported several new scars, and the helplessness in Alistair’s eyes were like knives in her chest. It was a constant reminder that Kieran was in this state because of her, that she was putting her friends through such grief. And she was powerless to do anything about it.

Before she could dwell on such thoughts, a grunt came from Morrigan’s cot. Elissa turned, catching her old friend’s eyes flutter open. Morrigan lay still for a moment, blinking sleep away, before rising to sit. Her gaze fell to Kieran, and Elissa’s heart rumbled.

“Morrigan!” Bethany crouched beside her. Morrigan winced, her wound catching. “How are you feeling?”

Morrigan managed a dry smile.

“As well as one could feel, having traversed hundreds of miles of forest and mountain in the span of several days.” She held her bandaged side, and her expression softened. “My apologies, I did not mean to sound ungrateful. Thank you.”

“Hold still,” Bethany said, “I can help a little more.”

Morrigan obliged, closing her eyes as the mage peeled back the dressing on her side. Bethany rested her hands close, then let the healing blue aura seep inside. The angry edges calmed, and the claw marks became less deep, though they did not close over fully. Bethany frowned, but when she tried to renew the spell, Morrigan caught her wrist.

“T’is all magic can do for that wound,” she explained. “You have done what you could, waste not your power.”

Reluctant, Bethany lowered her hands. Hissing through her teeth, Morrigan shifted position, swinging her legs over the side of the cot. She took a moment to catch her breath, before she raised her head to Alistair and Elissa. Elissa looked away, unable to meet Morrigan’s gaze.

“I am glad your senses are restored, Elissa.” Morrigan flashed a relieved smile. “T’is not often I put much stock in faith, yet I knew you would prove stronger than Flemeth’s control.”

“Morrigan…” Elissa bowed her head. “You say this to the woman who went against her word and did this to your son.” She hunched her shoulders inward. “Whatever punishment you deem fit, I’ll…”

“Elissa,” Morrigan interrupted, “look at me.”

Elissa took a breath, daring to lift her eyes to Morrigan’s once more. To her surprise, there was no anger or malice; only deep concern.

“To blame you would be akin to blaming the knife wielded by the murderer,” Morrigan stated. “You were used, Elissa, made into a tool for another’s purpose as my dear mother is wont of doing.” She shook her head. “I did not come all this way to take vengeance, for you are not deserving of such.” Her lip curled. “ _Flemeth_ was the one who poisoned your Shard, so t’is Flemeth who will reap the force of my wrath.” Her fist clenched. “Alas, I underestimated the depth of her knowledge, and should I want my chance to secure our safety, I shall need your help.”

“Whatever you need, it’s yours,” Alistair vowed. “Flemeth doesn’t scare me.”

“Yes, and we can’t ignore what she’s been plotting, either,” Bethany added. “Why did she want Kieran? And what was she trying to do to Elissa?”

“That I can only speculate,” Morrigan answered. “Flemeth needed Kieran to possess the soul of the Archdemon, and she clearly wants the Shards of Andraste. I would guess she wished for a vessel capable of controlling their power, and what better could she have asked than a mortal who held the soul of an Old God?” She rubbed her shoulder. “However, what I do not understand is why she did not seize the Shards earlier, nor why she is so interested in you, Elissa, and your connection to them.”

Elissa ground her teeth.

“Flemeth engineered everything from the beginning,” she growled. “She set Howe against my family and forced me into the Grey Wardens, amongst other things. In the Stonewall ruins, she also said something about a blood tie. I didn’t understand at the time, but if the text Merrill translated is true…” She licked her lips, the pieces starting to line up. “It means my lineage traces back to Andraste herself, and that might be why I have a link to the Shards.”

“Really?” Bethany blurted. “Merrill told me that scroll she had was full of names. Was that an ancestry record?”

“Yes.” Elissa ran her finger over the Cousland ring on her neck. “The first name was Andraste’s, and the last name recorded was my grandmother’s. I’m sure of it.”

“Maker’s breath, really?” Alistair blinked. “That’s quite the claim.” He shook his head. “It seems odd to find such a thing in some random ruins in Orlais, though.” He squeezed Kieran’s hand. “Maybe you got sensitive to all this weird magic because you had to use the Sacred Ashes?”

“I don’t think so,” Elissa answered. “Flemeth was aware of all this before I even knew the Ashes existed.” Her voice darkened. “She’s been pulling so many strings from the start, even before she saved us from Ostagar.”

“I see. I was not aware of any of this.” Morrigan chewed her lip, thoughtful. “T’is likely then that the Shards’ power could only be unlocked by one of Andraste’s blood. And t’would explain why Flemeth insisted that you be defended at all costs when she sent me with you.”

“Right.” Elissa swallowed, hard. “Was that the real reason you rescued me from the rubble of Fort Drakon?”

Morrigan stiffened.

“Far from it.” She spoke slow, her tone wounded. “Flemeth may have tasked me to watch over you, Elissa, but my actions after the defeat of the Archdemon came from my own heart.” She sighed. “You were my friend, the first I had ever known and trusted. I wanted to save you for that, not for the cruel machinations of my mother.” She paused. “I hope you believe that.”

Elissa could only nod, biting back the doubts that were starting to creep over her. Deep down, she did believe Morrigan, but that made other questions arise. All the lucky escapes and close calls…had they really all been driven by a single woman’s ambition?

_Has my life ever been my own?_

“Alas, as intriguing as Flemeth’s plot may be, we waste time speculating,” Morrigan went on. “She has neither you nor Kieran, and she cannot achieve her goal without both. So long as we keep things as such, we should not have to worry about her further.” She placed her hands beside her and pushed herself to a standing position. Elissa raised a brow, but the creases of concern vanished as Morrigan walked to Kieran’s bedside unaided. She caressed his cheek.

“If I am to heal Kieran,” she said, “I must claim a lost fount of knowledge that resides within the Arbour Wilds.” She traced her fingers across Kieran’s forehead. “It is called the Well of Souls, a relic of the elven goddess Mythal. As one would expect, however, her temple is heavily guarded. I attempted to break through the wards, and almost paid the price for it.” She bent down, kissing her son’s cheek, before she looked to Elissa. “I have already asked much of you, Elissa, but if I do not acquire the Well’s secrets, Kieran’s soul will be lost forever.” Her voice wavered. “So, though I have already put you through so much, I beg of you, old friend. Will you help me one more time?”

Elissa squared her jaw.

“You may have absolved me of blame, Morrigan, but it was still my hand that left Kieran like this,” she said. “I must atone for that. Of course I’ll help you.”

“Hey, don’t forget about the rest of us!”

Lahara’s voice bounded from the doorway, and she strode in, accompanied by Leliana. The bard’s expression was stoic, though her eyes lightened on seeing Elissa.

“Afraid I can’t let you lot scurry off on another solo adventure,” Lahara said, slipping to Bethany’s side. “The Inquisition is coming along as well.”

Morrigan frowned.

“I appreciate the offer of additional help,” she began, “but…”

“There cannot be a choice in the matter,” Leliana stated curtly. “Your attempt to reach that temple did not go unnoticed, Morrigan.” She held up a slip of parchment. “My spies report Corypheus’s forces are marching through the Arbour Wilds as we speak, no doubt also seeking the same power.”

“What?!” Morrigan’s amber eyes erupted. “That blind, arrogant fool! He lusts for a power he could never hope to understand!” Her arms shook. “We cannot let him get to the temple!”

“Exactly what I thought,” Lahara drawled. “Cullen’s already deployed our soldiers, we should be able to stall Corypheus long enough to slip ahead, if we leave immediately.” She eyed Morrigan’s injuries. “Will you be up for it?”

Morrigan’s gaze darkened.

“I would sacrifice all that I am to see my son restored, and these wounds will not stop me,” she hissed. “Lead the way, Inquisitor.”

* * *

 

“Elissa, do you have a moment?”

Leliana’s voice called out, and Elissa looked up from the weapon smith’s tent. An earlier skirmish had broken her sword-hilt, and so she was seeking a replacement. The bard made her way towards her, surrounded by the humid foliage of the Arbour Wilds. The faint cries of fighting echoed across the air, and the camp was bustling, re-equipping soldiers and tending to the wounded. They had made steady progress since joining the front lines, but Corypheus had more of a lead than anticipated. If they wanted any chance of stopping him, they needed to move fast.

“What’s wrong?” Elissa asked, as the smith hastily re-tipped her weapon. “Are we being swarmed?”

“No, we are holding position well,” Leliana reported, “but that wasn’t what I wanted to talk about.”

“Oh?” Elissa raised a brow. “Can it wait? I have to get back to the advance line.”

Leliana let out a breath.

“I wish it could,” she admitted, “but this is too important, and I did not have a chance to catch you earlier. Please, it will not take more than a few moments.”

“Alright.” Elissa reclaimed her repaired blade, then walked towards the empty tents. Leliana followed, her grey-blue eyes seemingly uncertain. Once they had a semblance of privacy, she began.

“You know Morrigan and I always shared our differences,” the bard stated. “And though she seems changed from when last we met, I cannot…” She let out a breath, fumbling for words. “Are you certain it is wise to let her have this ancient knowledge?”

Elissa frowned. “If it will bring Kieran back…”

“I don’t doubt she wishes to save him,” Leliana countered, “but…” She ran a hand through her hair. “All I can recall is how I too was after such a power to see you healed, and it almost cost me everything. Seizing onto unknown magic can bring far greater tragedy than fortune.” She licked her lips. “And when Morrigan knows you are still sought after by Flemeth, I…”

Elissa’s gazed softened, and she held Leliana’s cheek.

“You’re worried she’ll still use me to get to Flemeth?” she offered.

Leliana clasped her palm over Elissa’s, pressing it closer.

“I don’t know how you trust her so freely,” the bard whispered. “How are you to say that once she gets what she wants, she won’t betray us? She’s lied to you before about restoring your memories.”

Elissa smiled.

“She did,” she admitted, “but it was out of fear I would perish if I chased a dangerous cure, not because she wanted the power herself.” She laced her fingers with Leliana’s. “I know asking you to trust Morrigan is a tall order, but she proved herself long before she saved me from certain death.” She kissed Leliana softly. “If you won’t believe in her, believe in me. She doesn’t want me come to harm, just as you don’t.”

Leliana nodded, letting her lips linger over Elissa’s.

“I believe you,” she murmured. “I…I still cannot forgive her for not telling me you were still alive. But past grievances should not dictate the present, and if you feel you can still trust her, I will stand by your judgement. I…”

“Spymaster, Hero, urgent message!”

The two turned, catching Sparrow racing towards them. The side of his uniform was bloody, and Elissa’s eyes widened.

“An Executioner’s…been spotted…by the ruins!” Sparrow puffed, hunched over his knees. “Inquisitor’s…asking you to hurry…”

“I’ll be right there,” Elissa proclaimed. “Where are they?”

“Up…there…” Sparrow gestured with his hand, pointing out a flattened trail through the trees.

Nodding, Elissa stole a final kiss from Leliana, then took off into the branches and shrubs. The canopy was smothering, blotting out almost all light, and reminded Elissa too closely of Stonewall. However, here there was no abandoned village of cultists to stumble onto. Instead, as the screams of battle fell into the distance, the trail ended at a large clearing. At its north edge stood a narrow stone passage, the walls towering as high as the trees.

Yet most noticeable was the huge black shadow draped over it, its hollow neck revealing a throat lined with red crystal teeth. For the moment it seemed dormant, content to watch over the bodies of Red Templars, Inquisition soldiers, Venatori and strangely-clothed elves that littered the ground, each scarred with red lyrium. Lahara and the others were also present, standing a distance before the creature so as not to disturb it.

“Sorry I’m late,” Elissa reported, skidding to a halt beside Alistair. Iron Bull, Cassandra, and Bethany were also there, eyeing up the monster.

“You’re good,” Lahara answered, her mismatched eyes never leaving the beast. “I’ve sent the others to find another way inside to save time. Looks like Corypheus posted this one here on guard duty.”

“Then we need to hurry,” Elissa said, the rune on her chest tingling.

“My thoughts exactly,” Lahara replied. “Get it on the ground, then Elissa and I can do the rest. Beth, better stay back ‘til we’re done.”

The mage nodded, tightening her grip on her staff.

“Got it, boss,” Iron Bull proclaimed. “Hey Warden-Commander, up for a wrestling match with that thing? I’ll hold the head, you hold the tail.”

“Not my usual style but I’m up for it,” Alistair smirked, sheathing his sword and slinging his shield onto his back. “Once it’s down you can throw the tethers, Cassandra.”

“Very well,” the Seeker answered.

“Okay.” Lahara sucked in a breath. “Now!”

Iron Bull and Alistair broke into a charge. No sooner had they come within a few steps of the creature than it rumbled to life. It sprang off the wall, sending twigs and dust flying as it landed heavily. Iron Bull leapt, snaring his arms around the base of its neck and throwing all his weight on top. Alistair grabbed its tail, wrapping it around his arm and twisting savagely. The Executioner screamed, claws thrashing and tearing chunks of earth from the ground. That was Cassandra’s cue and she bolted, throwing thick rope around its legs and locking its ankles with secure knots. The creature writhed, exposing its defenceless chest.

“Destroy it!” she cried.

Elissa and Lahara sprinted, their hands interlinked. Together they slammed their palms into the inky depths of the monster’s body. Eventually Elissa’s fingertips found the core and she growled, a surge of energy shooting from her chest, down her arm and into her hand. It was soon joined by Lahara’s, and Elissa ripped the core free, shattering the pulsating blue crystal. It exploded, throwing both her and Lahara backwards. Elissa lost her grip on Lahara and tumbled straight into a broad trunk, the wind knocked from her lungs.

“Elissa!” Alistair was at her side in an instant, his hand on her back. Coughing, Elissa pushed herself onto all fours, gasping, and fighting the urge to throw up. “Maker, that packed a punch, didn’t it?”

Elissa nodded, slowly gaining control over her breathing and digestive system. Her Shard was throbbing, and she swallowed, fanning back the flames that wanted to take over. A cold sweat had broken on her forehead, and she shivered, letting the shaking pass.

Once the rush of pain and nausea abated, she took Alistair’s hand and stood, glancing over to Lahara. The Herald was on her back in the mud, wincing as Bethany helped to sit her in her lap. Her right hand was still glowing, and the silver bracelet rippled, half-turned to gold.

“Ugh…” Lahara spat out excessive saliva, cradling her hand to her chest. “Maker…that’s sore…”

“Lara…” Bethany’s eyes brimmed with worry. Her fingers touched Lahara’s bracelet, tracing over the line of colour change. “The Shard, it’s…”

“‘M okay,” Lahara said, pushing herself back to her feet. She wiped her mouth and shook her hand, as if she’d dipped it in something wet. “Don’t worry about that. Need to get going, we’re almost there.”

Without waiting she strode off towards the passage, her back straight. Bethany hurried after, her brow creased, and the others followed. They slipped into the cool shadows, their footfalls echoing off solid stone. Elissa rubbed the rune on her chest, wishing it would fully calm.

“You okay?” Alistair asked. “You look awfully pale.”

“It’s the only way we can defeat those monsters,” Elissa shrugged. “How it makes me feel is irrelevant.”

“Not true,” Alistair murmured. “If you’re not careful…”

A cavernous roar flooded from behind, drowning the rest of his words. It was followed by a huge blast of burning wind, and Elissa covered her face with her arms, scant embers flowing off her chest-plate.

“It’s that blasted Archdemon!” Alistair bellowed. “Run, get to the end before it makes the whole thing collapse!”

He scrambled, snatching Elissa’s wrist as he pelted down the corridor. Elissa ran harder, honing on Bethany’s neckerchief that was just a few inches ahead. The tunnel seemed endless, and the walls began to tremble. Finally the light of the exit approached, and Elissa upped her pace. They were almost, almost…

The group burst back into daylight, onto a vegetation-ravaged balcony that overlooked a courtyard. Elissa caught herself on the railing, panting. A few metres ahead extended a marble bridge, towering above a stagnant moat. More Red Templar bodies lined the stones, and a pair of hooded sentries stood guard, their weapons bloodied.

Before Elissa could fully get her bearings, the passage behind shuddered. On instinct she vaulted the balcony rails, just as the Archdemon crashed through, shattering the entire rear wall. Bricks went flying, and the two elf guards braced their polearms. The Archdemon didn’t flinch, ploughing straight into them. They cried out, pierced by the dragon’s horns, before falling into the moat. The Archdemon howled, returning to the air and starting to circle faster and faster.

“It’s going to hit the bridge!” Lahara yelled. “Everyone across, now!”

“I’ll distract it!” Elissa snarled, drawing her blades. “Get ahead before you lose the chance!”

“Not alone you won’t!” Alistair shot back, snatching his sword free.

Lahara growled in protest, but the decision had already been made.

“Damn it, I’d better see you both ahead!” she declared, tearing across the bridge with the others. “Or there’ll be hell to pay!”

Elissa clenched her teeth, knowing arguing would waste valuable time. Instead she jogged onto the bridge, keeping focus on the Archdemon above. Faster and faster it circled, and Elissa squinted, judging position. It was going to strike the middle support pillar. She had to get onto its back before it hit.

At last the Archdemon bellowed, twisting into a dive.

“Alistair, now!” Elissa yelled.

The two former Wardens charged, right into the path of the blighted dragon. Elissa moved like lightning, and when she reached the edge she jumped, right onto the Archdemon’s back. Her dagger sank between its shoulders and the beast roared, veering off course and striking one of the smaller supports behind. The stone cracked, and the bridge lamented, buckling under the new strain but still managing to hold. Elissa snarled, driving her blade in deeper, twisting, and the Archdemon shrieked. It flung itself from under the bridge, rolling and thrashing, and Elissa lost her grip.

The fall was short, but still painful as she plunged into the moat. The icy water scraped her skin, engulfing her as she crashed into its shallows on her side. Her left wrist flared with pain, and she gasped, the sting of icy water burning her mouth and chest. For a moment Elissa remained still, the shock of the fall freezing her in place. Her legs were wobbly, and her vision swam.

_Move, get up, just…_

Then a rumble echoed from above. Chunks of stone and metal crumbled into the moat, sending up huge splashes. Elissa tried to crawl away, but something struck her temple and she fell into the darkness.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The layout of the temple is not true to the games, just a heads up…

When Elissa opened her eyes again, the icy darkness remained. Panic flooded through and she tried to move, jarring the water and rubble suffocating her. A piece above fell away, letting a single stream of light enter, and Elissa groaned, her legs, wrist and back all protesting as she lay half-submerged in the moat. Coughing, she let the pain wash over, before gritting her teeth and assessing the damage. Debris from the bridge lay strewn over her, and a support beam had fallen across her hips and legs, trapping her. Something warm and wet dribbled down her nose and off her chin, and she winced, making to wipe the blood. Her left hand screamed, and she cried out, cradling it to her chest. Even beneath the gauntlet her wrist throbbed and burned, and bending her fingers was like a hammer-blow to the inside. It had to be broken.

Snatching her breath, Elissa reached with her right hand, pushing against the pillar that kept her in place. It was a feeble effort, and despite throwing all her strength behind, it refused to budge. Elissa groaned, flopping back into the water. She closed her eyes, the trickle of dripping droplets echoing deep.

“Alistair?” Her call was little more than a croak, scraping raw against her throat. Even if he had escaped the bridge collapse, there was no way he’d hear her. And the others would’ve gone on ahead. She had no-one else to fall back on.

_I have to get out of here!_

Snarling, Elissa renewed her efforts. She tried to twist her leg free and push with her hand. Her pulse cantered in her ears, her breaths stumbled to keep up, and every muscle sang with agony. Yet still nothing worked, and she sank back into the moat, shivering. The rune on her chest tingled, and she bit her lip. The frightening rage-fire had already stirred when she’d destroyed the Executioner, and a drop too much would fully unleash it. Tempting as it was, she couldn’t risk it, not when she’d lose control and destroy everything in sight, friend or foe.

_But if I don’t do something…_

“Need some help, my friend?”

A bolt of dread shot down Elissa’s spine, and her breath caught. That Antivan lilt was the last voice she’d expected—and wanted—to hear. Before she could answer, more of the overhead rubble cleared, and the silver-blond head of Zevran appeared. He wasn’t wearing his usual hood, and if not for the strange glint in his eye, looked practically unchanged from when they had travelled together during the Blight. He flashed a smile, extending his hand.

“Get the _hell_ away from me!” Elissa snarled. She fumbled for her sword, which remained girded to her hip.

“Oh?” Zevran arched a brow. “I would not recommend that as a fruitful action, Elissa.” He tilted his head. “Would you truly prefer to be trapped in darkness, when there is a chance to walk in the light again?”

“ _Shut up_!” Elissa finally managed to pull her blade from its sheath. “You’re going to answer for the blood you’ve shed, Zevran, the lives you’ve endangered, the lies you’ve spun!” She struggled again, at last finding a gap for her leg to slip free. “I won’t stand for it anymore!”

Zevran fell quiet, his eyes growing distant.

“Yes,” he murmured, all traces of his usual humour gone. “I will indeed pay the price, the one my master set the day he saved me. One I have since accepted, knowing the pain and grief it would bring, and how many bridges I would have to burn.” His gaze met Elissa’s, a turbulent storm of regret and…loneliness. “But alas, it is not you who will collect that debt, my friend. You can be safe knowing that the punishment I deserve is coming, so do not waste your anger. You have more pressing matters to focus on.”

Elissa stilled, listening. Furious as she was, as much as her hand itched to let steel meet flesh, part of her was moved by the Antivan’s words. Whatever Zevran had done, it was all in service to a power that controlled his every move. He was no more an active agent than she was, and Morrigan’s words echoed back. Here was yet another knife wielded by another murderer. Perhaps she shouldn’t be so quick to judge without knowing the full story. No matter how much his actions had hurt.

“I will cut you a deal, Elissa,” Zevran said. “I owe you much, much more, but this is all can offer for now. Let me free you, and I will tell you all I know. My master will disapprove, but his wrath means little to me. Our time has been run into the ground, and this may be our only hope to save anything.”

Elissa closed her eyes, deliberating.

“Alright,” she said at last. “Help me.”

Nodding, Zevran came closer, shoving away bricks and stone as if they were mere pebbles. Next he gripped the fallen pillar and flung it backwards, where it crashed into the remains of the bridge. The release of pressure was instant, and Elissa bent her knees, grateful that nothing else had been broken. Gently, Zevran hooked his arm under her shoulder, before pulling her upright. Elissa’s thighs and calves groaned, but they stood strong, and she eased herself onto the debris. She pressed her sleeve to the cuts around her brow, spitting out the pooled blood between her lips.

“Did you see Alistair?” she asked, glancing around the moat ruins.

“I did not, no,” Zevran admitted, seating himself opposite. “But the Herald and her entourage made it across. They should be within the temple vestibule.”

Elissa nodded, wincing as her neck creaked. At least her distraction had been worth something. She kept her left wrist as still as possible, as the slightest pressure would send lancinating pain into her fingers.

“In order to understand what lies in the future, we have to first look to the past,” Zevran began, rubbing his forearm. “Long, long ago, before Andraste, before the Blights, before history itself, before the very creation of our world, dwelled two powers so ancient and unknowable even the label ‘god’ is too weak. One moulded Thedas and all we know of it, and as time passed we came to call Him the Maker. The other breathed life across it, guardian of souls and keeper of death, and she has long been forgotten.”

“Etro,” Elissa uttered, a flutter escaping her chest.

“Indeed,” Zevran went on. “She was forgotten because she was murdered, Elissa. But her loss doomed the entire world, and thus those who have looked, those who sought to remember, have pledged their utmost to see her return.” His eyes hardened. “At first Andraste was meant to be the goddess reborn, but her love of helping the suffering resulted in her death before she could assume her rightful place. It resulted in a blood-tie, meaning only her descendants could bear the power of her soul. It has taken generations for one worthy of this to be born, and that vessel is you, Elissa.”

“So we’ve found out,” Elissa murmured. “But why? If Etro’s been dead for generations, why the importance to bring her back?”

“Because the unbound souls are destroying the world,” Zevran said. “Each and every year the Corruption spreads further and deeper, the lyrium veins that kept it in check every depleting. Now it has spread to the core of Thedas and it cannot be contained. It will not be long before it floods every corner of the world, consuming all into darkness.” He sighed. “My master’s hope was to restore you to your full power, to avert the oncoming disaster, alas I failed his mission. The Shards were split, and now we have gone past the point of no return.”

Elissa scowled.

“Was that why you targeted Lara and Amber?” she asked. “Why you tried to kill them?”

“They should never have inherited a power that was yours alone,” Zevran answered. “And the sacrifice of two souls to give every living creature a second chance seems hardly the darkest of crimes. But thanks to my failure, the hope of those wanting Thedas’s salvation has been dashed.” He paused. “Even if you were to have your full power restored this instant, Elissa, it is too late. The Corruption is too widespread to contain.” He licked his lips. “However, my master, in his wisdom, has found another way.”

Elissa shivered, almost too afraid to voice her question.

“What does that entail?” she asked, hesitant.

“A new beginning,” Zevran replied, leaning back on his hands. “A chance to wipe the slate clean, and start afresh, with none of the sins of the past hanging over us. To see Thedas reborn into a bright and glorious future.”

Elissa blinked. “How…How is such a thing possible?”

“It will only _be_ possible if you accept your destiny, Elissa,” Zevran countered, dodging the question. “The souls of Thedas need a guide, a shepherd if you will, to ensure they do not become consumed to nothingness.” He faced Elissa, his jaw set. “It is impossible, even with all my power, to slay a Shard-Bearer. Thus, there is but a single way forward from here.” He took a breath. “ _You_ must kill Lahara Trevelyan and Amber Hawke and reclaim your Shards. Fail in this, and you will have doomed all existence to die, including yourself.”

Elissa stared, dumbstruck. This was…too much. It had to be another lie, another trick.

“I don’t believe you,” she whispered.

“Belief or not, it is the truth as I know it,” Zevran stated. “Etro must live, and if she is not resurrected soon, everything will disappear.” He folded his arms. “When we faced the onslaught of the Blight all those years ago, you never shied from the hard decisions, Elissa. This is no different, though the stakes are much, much higher. You have to see this through.”

“I…I can’t.” Elissa’s hands shook, her thoughts filled with the images of her friends. “How could I…what will happen to _their_ souls…”

“A fate far worse than if you do not kill them first,” Zevran said. “It is for the future of all Thedas, Elissa. No matter the pain, you cannot cower from this. It is your duty.”

Elissa’s fists clenched. That word made her blood boil, and her arms shook. _My **duty**? Just as it was my **duty** to end the Blight, to sacrifice all I was, to be rewarded with darkness and loss and pain and grief? As it was my **duty** to unleash the Shards, to condemn my closest allies to a fate worse than death?!_

_I will **not** do it!_

“No.” Elissa stood, making to walk away. “I won’t fall for this again!” Her eyes flared. “A bright future for Thedas, you say? You sound no different to Corypheus who wants to enslave us all!” She hissed. “Your master is just the same as all the other power-hungry fools who fumble to seize opportunity as it suits them! I won’t be used as a tool any longer!”

Zevran’s face fell.

“My dear, I’d hoped you would listen this time,” he said, also rising to his feet. “Alas, why should you, given all the deceit that has left my lips before? It is only reasonable for you in your position. I don’t fault you.” A flash of light creased his eyes. “But you have left me no choice.”

Elissa gasped, meaning to run, but her legs never moved. An unseen force had her bolted in place, and her chest filled with terror. She threw every bit of her resolve to her muscles, begging them to respond, yet all she could do was watch, frozen, as Zevran approached. He gazed upon her, his lips downturned, his eyes burdened with sorrow.

“I wish…I wish I did not have to do this.” His voice cracked, and he raised his arm. Elissa fell to her knees, splashing moat-water into the air.

“No, wait, Zevran, _please_!” Elissa howled, as invisible bands wrapped around her wrists, pulling her arms apart. She screamed as her left hand jarred, her head forced upwards and stretching her neck. She was completely helpless. Just like in the cultist’s temple.

Gasping, she stared, horrified, as Zevran removed a dagger from his belt. The twin of the blade he had given her to first reveal his identity. Her Shard rumbled, feeding off the bubbling mix of fear and pain and anger. The feelings began to spiral, and Elissa’s breathing quickened, desperate not to swept into the chaos.

“No,” she begged, “you can’t…I won’t…you have to stop this, please, _please!_ ”

If she lost control…

Lahara, Bethany, Alistair…

_Leliana!_

“I am truly, truly sorry, my friend.” Zevran’s eyes glistened. “But my master’s will is absolute. And if I do not do this, every soul on Thedas will perish, and I…He will not let that happen. Not while I am at His mercy.”

“Zevran, _please **stop**_!” Elissa screamed. _“Don’t do this, **don’t do this**!_ ”

The Antivan’s voice broke, and he let his tears escape at last.

“Elissa, please forgive me!”

Finally steel met flesh, and a thunderous shriek broke the sky.

* * *

 

Lahara groaned, her ears still ringing from the bridge collapse. Spitting out dust, she sank against a wall, her lyrium collar clicking as it fought to keep up with her breathing. The others stood around her, equally as worn out. They had managed to reach the other side through a narrow passage and were now in the temple proper. But the impact of the Archdemon’s body had caused that corridor to also fall on itself, meaning there was no way back to the bridge. No way to know what had become of Alistair and Elissa.

Bethany’s gaze was locked onto the rubble, her face torn. Her expression alone made Lahara’s heart break, and she bit her lip.

“Don’t worry so much,” Iron Bull proclaimed, though even he couldn’t hide his own worry. “The ol’ Hero survived falling from a tower and the Warden-Commander’s got her back. We’ll see them soon enough.”

“Yes.” Bethany’s voice was quiet but determined. “Is everyone else alright?”

“Just about,” Lahara answered, rubbing the back of her neck.

“We should press on and not waste the time they have bought us.” Cassandra spoke, practical and cool. “Corypheus must not get to the Well.”

“Yeah,” Lahara sighed. “We’d better hurry.”

Breaking her gaze from the blocked passage, the Herald turned to the new room. They had entered a courtyard of some kind, where two statues lined with unusual floor panels stood. Another entrance led deeper inside above a series of steps, and a second entrance sat on the west side. Lahara rubbed her chin, thoughtful. Eventually she decided to check the nearest statue, but at the same time the squeal of rusted hinges echoed, along with Dorian’s muttering. She glanced to the second entrance as the enormous door opened, revealing the Tevinter mage, Merrill, Solas and Morrigan in tow.

“Well, that’s good timing,” Lahara called, hurrying to join them. “All in one piece?”

“Mostly,” Dorian answered. “We had to split from the others, there were too many Red Templars and Venatori to deal with.” He wiped his brow. “I don’t wish to pay such an entrance fee again. It’s hard work fleeing for your life.”

“I can assure you ours was no less expensive,” Lahara chimed. “Did you see any sign of Corypheus?”

“No, but he has infested these grounds with those hateful dust creatures,” Solas growled, clutching his staff so tight his knuckles were white. “It has made us all but powerless.”

“I’ve never seen so many in one place,” Merrill chipped in. “It’s…horrible.” She shivered. “They’re eating through the temple and there’s nothing we can do to stop them.”

“They are storming a path to the inner sanctum,” Morrigan added, “though the temple’s guardians are not making it easy. But we cannot dawdle. Every second in our favour is a gift, and we must not lose it.”

“Gotcha.” Lahara wandered up the steps at the front of the courtyard. A large set of double-doors stood there, and even without touching, the Herald could taste the mana in the stone. She brought her hand towards it, and her Shard burned. Flinching, Lahara stepped back. Even her bracelet was agitated and rattled against her skin. “Seems there’s more magic seals this far in. Any idea how we break them?”

“Let me see.” Merrill jogged to the door, examining it. She tutted and hummed, running a finger over its edges, but there was no obvious lock or barricade. “I can’t…”

“Wait.” Morrigan had stepped towards one of the statues, studying the carvings at their base. She muttered the Elvish words to herself, chewing her lip. “It appears that the door shall only open to those who pay their respects to Mythal.”

“Is that so?” Merrill frowned. She abandoned the door, making for the statue herself. For a moment she too mulled over the inscription, when her brow raised. “Yes, that’s right. How were you able to read that?”

“T’is so surprising that a ‘shemlen’ would take an interest into a history more ancient than that of her own kind?” Morrigan drawled. “If we wish to look to the future, we must understand what lies in the past. A Dalish such as yourself surely knows that above all.”

“Yes, but look too far into the past, and you are doomed to repeat it,” Merrill answered quietly. “The Well has been sealed all this time for a reason. It must hold a great and terrible power.”

“It does indeed, yet old tales of fear-mongering will not stop Corypheus,” Morrigan said. “And it will not help my son.” She levelled her gaze. “Find me unworthy as you will, but know none of this is for my own sake.”

“So you claim,” Solas huffed. “I have seen gluttons look upon feasts less favourably.”

“Regardless,” Morrigan went on, ignoring the remark, “if we are to enter the sanctum, we must exercise the proper rituals.”

“And how do we do that?” Lahara asked, swallowing her disquiet. “Sacrifice a few halla? Chant a few lines of sacred text? A little song and dance routine?”

“The latter is not far wrong.” Morrigan stroked her chin. “Wait a moment, I shall attempt.”

She stepped onto the panel before the first statue. A surge of mana filled the crevices, and so Morrigan stepped to the next, that one also stirring to life. Lahara watched, her collar clicking as Morrigan followed the pattern, until all the panels were activated. Something rumbled in the stone, and the statue’s eyes began to glow gold.

“Aha!” Merrill’s eyes lit up in understanding, and she crossed over to the other statue, repeating a similar ritual. Once finished, her statue also came alive, and the door beyond the steps groaned, sliding open. A dark passage loomed, and Lahara shivered, a sudden coldness falling over her. This path had not been opened for centuries and centuries, and Merrill’s words took on a new depth of meaning.

_We really shouldn’t be here._

Morrigan strode past, seeming to sense no such inhibitions. Sighing, Lahara walked behind her, crossing her fingers behind her back. Soon they entered another chamber, this one in better repair than what had come before. It was more like a petitioner’s court than a temple, surrounded by two balconies and with elegant pillars holding up the walls. Statues of elven archers lined the doors, and a mosaic of Mythal herself adorned the ceiling. Ahead stood the tallest structure, an elevated platform akin to a judge’s bench. And it was not empty.

Lahara held her breath, watching a hooded figure pace the wall of judgement. He was dressed in armour Lahara had never seen before. He raised his arm in a fist, and a chilling shiver ran down her spine. She didn’t have to turn around to know a rank of archers were waiting, their bows primed at her back.

“You intrigue me, stranger,” the hooded figure spoke, his face etched with the tattoos of the deity he still served. “You are not like the other invaders.” He stopped pacing. “You stumble through these paths with our own at your side, and…” His gaze lingered on Lahara’s left hand. “…you bear a magic that is familiar. Tell me, what is your connection to those defiling our home?”

“Great,” Lahara muttered under her breath. She squared her shoulders, standing tall. “We mean you no harm, er…”

“I am Abelas,” the figure stated, “and I lead the Sentinels, guardians of this sanctuary.”

“Right, Abelas,” Lahara repeated. “The ones destroying your sacred ground serve my enemy. He seeks to plunder and savage your temple. We’re trying to stop him.”

“Indeed,” Abelas murmured. “Yet you stand before me and not those you quarrel with, also eager to sip from the _Vir’Abelasan_?”

“The Place of the Way of Sorrows,” Morrigan whispered. “He speaks of the Well!”

“You are no less fools than all those who came before you,” Abelas went on. “It is not for you. _Any_ of you.”

Before Lahara could answer, Morrigan stepped forward.

“T’is not a case of senseless greed and ambition,” she pleaded. “My son is dying, trapped between the realm of living and dead, never to find peace. I seek the power of the Well to free his soul!”

“The _Vir’Abelasan_ will not allow you to restore him,” Abelas countered. “Even if it could, we would still not sacrifice it.”

“You would turn away a mother fighting to save her only child?” Morrigan shot back. “Is Mythal not also known as the All-Mother, do you not revere her in the same light?” She shook her head. “You do not speak truth, Abelas, if only to protect what you know. I have shown my respect, and will follow any trial you set further.”

“There are no further trials that would deem you worthy,” Abelas snarled. “You think I have not heard similar stories seeking the pity of my heart?”

“Apathy is not a choice you can afford, Sentinel,” Morrigan argued. “Care not for my plight as you will, but turn me away and the enemy despoiling your temple will capitalize instead. He has power you cannot hope to fight alone, and he will not stop until he has consumed all your sacred ground has to offer.”

Abelas flinched at her words.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “I have seen them. The creatures of darkness that consume all they touch. It leeches the protective magic that has long guarded these walls, and they do not fall to flame, bow or sword.”

“They don’t fall to magic, either,” Lahara cut in, mindful of the doors behind them. They had already wasted so many precious minutes, but she did not want to be fighting a battle on two fronts. “Only one power can destroy them, and it’s one I possess.” She clenched her right hand to a fist. “I can help defeat them and preserve your temple, if…”

“The _Vir’Abelasan_ is not a prize to be bartered for!” Abelas barked. “Without it, this temple loses purpose, as do we. I would rather see it destroyed.” His eyes turned to steel. “I give you one last chance, intruders. Leave this place and never return, and we will not pursue. Continue this foolishness, however, and…”

A cry broke from the entrance, and Lahara spun around. A mass of inky black filled her vision, and she cursed. She scrambled, taking cover behind a pillar as four dust monsters smashed through the stone. They broke the line of archers, the latter’s arrows sailing through their bodies as they swiped and devoured them. Abelas swore, disappearing through a doorway behind the platform, and Morrigan shouted, becoming a raven and fleeing after him.

“Wait!” Merrill raced after them. Solas and Dorian made to chase, when the dust monsters sprang, barring their path.

“Damn it!” Lahara readied her right hand, the Shard’s power pulsing into her arm, but Bethany gripped her wrist.

“We can defeat these without the Shard,” she said. “Don’t risk using more of your magic!”

“We don’t have time to wait!” Lahara countered. “I won’t overdo it, I promise…”

The words had barely escaped her when a roar bellowed from the doorway. Moments later a rush of Inquisition soldiers broke through, led by Cullen. Yelling, the soldiers flanked the creatures, and Iron Bull and Cassandra joined the fray. Swiftly one of the monsters fell, but then two merged together, forming a giant bear-like beast. It lunged at the soldiers, scattering them, and the last remaining creature bolted into a side passage.

“No!” Lahara broke into a run, dragging Bethany with her. Bethany loosened her hold, and Lahara was grateful for the gesture. The mage was allowing her to use whatever means she needed to stop the creature. She was _not_ going to see a repeat of Halamshiral.

The creature roared, carving chunks of stone from every corner it took too fast, and Lahara pushed herself to take longer strides. Her collar flickered, and it was all it could do to keep her breathing. They stumbled past shallow pools and untarnished statues, climbing then descending stairwells, until at last they broke into a courtyard again. Here lay another pool, and a series of rock steps curled around a curved basin of stone.

The dust monster howled, charging for the stairs. Lahara didn’t wait, hurling a fireball just in front of it. It shattered the lower step, and the creature hesitated. That was more than enough for the Herald, who braced her right hand and yelled, tackling the beast to the ground. They rolled and tumbled, striking the shallows of the lower pool, and Lahara drove her fingers into its chest. Moments later she ripped the beating red crystal free, crushing it. The black dust dispersed, dissolving into ash, and Lahara sank onto all fours, breathing hard.

“Lara!” Bethany was at her side in an instant, clasping her fingers around the bracelet. Another segment had turned gold, leaving less than a quarter silver.

“‘M good,” Lahara panted, slowly rising to her feet. Bethany wrapped her arms around, and Lahara embraced her back. “That was a close one.”

“ _Stop!_ ”

Abelas’s voice boomed from the shadows, and Lahara broke away from Bethany. A raven sliced past her cheek, and Abelas stormed behind, chasing it down. Soon after Merrill also appeared, her face flushed and breathing ragged. Swearing, Lahara sprinted up the steps of the Well, taking them two at a time.

At the summit, everything came to an abrupt halt. Morrigan shifted back to her human form, standing on the Well’s edge, her arms spread. Abelas remained almost upon her, a spell quietly charging in his palm. Lahara, Bethany and Merrill also came to a jarring stop, almost bowling into one another.

“Make another move and I will destroy it,” Abelas growled. “I will not hesitate!”

“I implore you, Abelas, this leaves no good outcome for either of us!” Morrigan challenged. “I do not wish to hurt you, but if you will not allow me to save my son…”

“I am merely performing my purpose!” Abelas shot back. “This is our legacy, all the knowledge and experience of those who toiled Mythal’s path. All we were, all we ever have been…you cannot take that from us!”

“When did I ever try to take?” Morrigan retorted. “I am _asking_ , Abelas, and I am not beyond begging, either.” Her amber eyes darkened. “But deny me once more and _I_ will be the one who will not hesitate!”

“You beg for a power with a high price,” Abelas said. “You will be forever bound to the will of Mythal, just as we are.”

“There is no price I cannot afford to see Kieran’s eyes open once more,” Morrigan stated. “To hear his voice, see his gentle smile, to show him all the world has yet to offer. He has fulfilled so many pieces of my life I had once discarded and thought meaningless.” She met Abelas’s gaze. “I would enslave myself to powers that would make the Evanuris tremble, if it meant he would be returned to me.”

For the shortest of moments, a flicker of a smile crossed Abelas’s face.

“Perhaps I…misjudged you,” he said carefully. “You are still not worthy of the Well’s privilege, do not mistake me. But I will not deny the strength of a mother’s love.” He let his hand drop, the spell dispersing, and stepped back. “See the Well’s power is used as it was meant.”

“Thank you, Abelas,” Morrigan said. She turned to Lahara. “And thank you too, Inquisitor. Should any of the Well’s strength be of use against Corypheus, t’is yours. This I vow.”

“Sure.” Lahara nodded. “I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for.”

Morrigan merely nodded. She took a breath, about to turn and enter the stream of silver water, when soft chuckling caught Lahara’s ear. Stunned, she snapped her head up. At first all appeared empty, until she caught the glisten of glass. An Eluvian crested the head of the Well, in seemingly perfect condition even after all these centuries.

And sitting on its frame was…

“ _Amber_?!”


End file.
